


Silver Scales In Pools of Green

by Archaic_Nepenthes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical creatures, Angst with a Happy Ending, Captivity, Falling In Love, H/D Sex Fair 2020, Hand Feeding, Language Barrier, Lonely Draco Malfoy, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Oblivious Harry Potter, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Protective Harry Potter, Romance, Sexual Performance, Siren Draco Malfoy, Sirens, Stockholm Syndrome, Touch-Starved Draco Malfoy, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26767627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaic_Nepenthes/pseuds/Archaic_Nepenthes
Summary: Draco is one of the last sirens of the seas, who escaped to the human world looking for friendship and food, but captivity found him instead. For seven years, he's gotten used to his life as human entertainment, and prides himself in his ability to make humans fall in step to his song.That is, until everything falls apart when he has an audience with green eyes...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy
Comments: 79
Kudos: 569
Collections: 2020 Harry/Draco Sex Fair





	1. The Gaze of Emeralds

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt [#136](https://docs.google.com/document/d/12_5f6f0xUXhqtWfMlhXRyA8kDC3KGShN3oa_IOD12DY/edit#).
> 
> This story deals with the psychological aftermath of captivity, and the heat/rut experiences of Siren Draco. Special thanks to Beta [curlyy_hair_dont_care](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlyy_hair_dont_care/) for motivating me and helping me finish this by the deadline! I could not have done this without her!
> 
> Kudos as well to the mod team at HD Fan Fair for their fantastic support!

When Draco had naively ventured into the human world in search of food and the vainer hope of friendship amongst land dwellers who couldn’t understand him, he’d never expected to be caught while in human appearance, or end up anywhere like the _Slug Club: Creatures Troupe of the Dark and Deep,_ with plenty of food and only one good friend, who wasn’t entirely human and who was entirely disturbing him at the moment.

“Draco, It’s time!” Luna called into the shaded area of the pool, where she had rightly assumed he was.

Draco slowly ascended, taking his time to slide his head out of the water up to where she knelt over the edge, not bothering to change his expression to a friendlier one at his serially whimsical friend. Her blonde hair looked as tangled in strange objects as ever—tiny pumpkins this time—that did nothing for either improving or worsening his mood, which stayed sour.

“It’s no time for Grumpskins to pull down your face,” Luna announced, peeling off imaginary beings she saw hanging off his frown—her familiar but still strange mannerisms hadn’t fazed him in years—before sitting back and offering his unconvinced expression an airy smile.

“It’s the last show for the day and then you can sleep all you want tomorrow,” she added. To which, Draco snorted.

Tomorrow was when they’d have two days off with no shows, as much as a break for them as the Master. It was hard to imagine their leisure-loving socialite working weekends when he could be out partying. Then again, it’s where the man gets most of the guests for his events. The Master only trusted himself to run his own show, a paranoia that afforded his magical creatures similar hours as him. Draco didn’t mind the reason, as long as he reaped the benefits.

Still, every week, Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.

Draco blew bubbles into the water, due to his inability to voice a complaint. Luna just laughed softly in response, her fingers beckoning towards him slightly to lift more of himself above the surface. Begrudgingly, he did so.

“Or think of all the salmon and swordfish after.” Her smile was warm, but tired too as she made quick work of putting on his jewelry and checking the magical timer on his collar. Looking him over and seeing everything was in place, she lightly drummed her fingers on his forehead—her usual _'magnet for good luck’_ —and rolled back on her heels to stand, regarding him affectionately.

“It’ll be over before you can say _fish_.”

Draco didn’t bother correcting her that he couldn’t say fish or anything at all, which meant it could go on forever. But this life was what he’d known for seven years now, and would probably for another seven more, so maybe she was right _in a way_ after-all, as Luna tended to be.

______________

The voice of the Master resonated through the room, speaking the thousandth reiteration of the same unchanged script that Draco knew better than his own voice. “Now for all you lovely ladies and gents, we’re ready to show you what you’ve all been waiting for! Introducing… our favorite platinum haired sea dragon… the mercurial last siren of the Seven Seas, the handsome, man -eating, _ARGYRIS!_ ”

Draco never understood why his given name couldn’t be used when spectators would be seeing his real body.

The lights as always were blinding as he swam out from his entrance point with the signal of his stage name. He was welcomed to the sounds of applause he could hear just as well, had he been sitting out there with them, thanks to the completely magical, invisible barrier that made up his large, floor-to-ceiling tank.

A sea of mesmerized, upturned faces greeted him as he swam into the middle of his stage, above the large trident pointing toward him rising from the ground. It would act as his anchor point throughout his act.

Most people affixed their gazes to the shine of his shimmering, silver tail that he flickered to and fro, _just so_ , to best capture and reflect the spotlights pointed on him. Others stared hungrily at the platinum band crowning his forehead matching his eyes, the spangles around his wrists, or the 3 braids of thin silver strands that circled his waist, and more still on the beautiful magical collar that wrapped snugly along his long neck. Wherever on him their stares trailed his form, he could see their eyes remained unable to leave his ivory skin and pearly scales.

It always felt right somehow in that first moment where he met his new audience. How right it was to be seen and instantly desired—that the dynamics of sirens and humans remained in some way unchanged, even though Draco was the one captured in the cage and not entrapping them with his voice… _yet_. There’s that childish sense of justice, receiving what little vengeance he could for having his shackled voice released only when being put on display for his viewers. Because as much as they liked to pretend the worse of his seductive ability was tampered down by his collar, he knew-

_Even when I’m silent, you can’t look away._

And he didn’t give them a chance as the music started playing.

He began his tried and true performance, that wizards and witches of high wealth paid galleons of galleons to attend. Starting slow, he merely gyrated his hips and swam in lazy perfect circles while splashes of color were summoned to the left and right of him, to accentuate his dance’s sensuality all the more.

He alternated between acrobatic flipping stunts and swimming in swerving patterns that exaggerated the length of his tail and the flexibility of his body, that further inspired their lust’s imaginations.

The effects of the potion he drank before the show slowly pulsed deeper and deeper within him, with every swimming stroke and flip of his body, as he chased his own tail around the trident set in the center of the stage. The audience didn’t know its significance yet, but they would soon.

He felt the tell tale clutching within his groin, his body reacting to the arousal and accepted it within his swimming. As he danced, his member slowly unsheathed itself, unfurling into the open water for all to watch. Draco kept his front facing them, ignoring the change in his body as if it was part of the dance. Because it was.

His member bobbed freely in the water outside his parted slit as he kept his hands raised and clasped above his head, his hips never stopped their swaying. The human’s heads swiveled to follow his every movement and action, willing puppets at his command. He eventually twirled himself slowly downward to the base of the trident, his member jutting fully and dragging in the water, only to slow and slither his body up and around the trident’s base.

The music abruptly stopped, just as Draco reached it’s top, his body aligned with its center. There, the eerie silence culminated as Draco hovered above the prongs, the middle one jutting out just a little further than its neighbors, almost grazing Draco’s member. This was intentional.

Draco slowly lowered himself to align it, obscuring his actions with his hands till the last second. And then he pressed the hole beneath his slit to it and began impaling himself for all to see.

He let the seemingly sharp object—magicked to be smooth, flexible and softer than the metal —invade his body, to the shocked and scandalized gasps of the crowd. Their reaction mattered little. Because once again, for all their misgivings and appreciation for the supposed social niceties and decorum of magical wizarding society, _they never look away._

Keeping his face relaxed, Draco lowered himself fully upon the middle prong, making them watch inch by inch as it disappeared into his body, creating a picture of a fish speared perversely on a fork. It was fitting since many of them would eat him if they could. His master, preferring more lasting sources of income than a one-time meal ticket, blessedly held no such interests.

He no longer felt embarrassment baring his slit to anyone who would look. All manner of humans had seen it. Draco was only an object to them. But as much as they could look, he bore the one dignity that they’d never be able to touch it; not while he was under the Master’s care and good favor. And he wouldn’t start disappointing now.

Draco was unable to keep the smugness from his face as he looked down at the crowd with half-lidded eyes. As easy as breathing, he didn’t even have to _try_ to have everyone transfixed and stupidly salivating for him like always-

Then his gaze caught _it,_ an obscured face in the middle of the crowd—chin obviously tilted down towards his lap where the program for the event lay open—that _didn't look at him_. It was ridiculous, and against the rules of his very existence. It had been impossible in all his time on this stage; no one had ever been able to get away from his show without being enchanted by him before. And yet, the gaze was clearly cast toward the ground, unreadable… or _disinterested._

The sight made Draco freeze in surprise despite himself, but only for a moment as he recovered quickly, hiding his stumble behind a confident smile as he rode himself on the prong more roughly than usual, for the entertainment of all those present.

But the cutting sting of being ignored remained; intolerable. And quickly turned into anger.

As he shifted himself up and down the prong, he couldn’t look away from that one fool in the audience that wouldn’t look back at him. Perhaps he was a prude, and couldn’t bear to watch? It was maddening to remember; humans were the ones in control and he wasn’t, even here where he was a beacon that blinded them with lust. To even consider that this one will escape, not knowing his power, and thinking he could remain untouched from Draco’s grasp? In his frustration, he thrusts into himself a little too enthusiastically and makes an aborted, unplanned sound of pain which the collar quickly silences the end of.

But somehow that action attracted the stray audience member’s attention. The dark fringe of hair was no longer angled to hide his gaze as he lifted it. And now, finally meeting them, Draco could see the color of his eyes even from so far away-

-were so very green and lost to anything else save for Draco.

Beautiful, damning and captivating to Draco all at once, those eyes—a color he’d never seen before in all his life—possessed him like no human’s had before, turning the tables when Draco should be the only one enthralling them. Yet Draco couldn’t look away, the kind of eyes Draco wanted to keep forever and punish for abandoning him, until they’d never again get away. The song in his chest burned for release, yearning to unleash just that.

The green eyes were almost desperate now, or it was himself projecting. Draco couldn’t even think clearly, while something so beautiful and obviously wanting had dared to have kept their eyes from him, to pretend to be unworthy of witnessing his song?

_Infuriating._

The collar buzzed just in time. Draco’s song hit him, full force, out his lungs then: angry to be heard for something different, proudly refusing to be defied where he was meant to shine, and longing for what it deserved—this new shade of eyes to acknowledge his irrefutable _power_ to allure their owner’s very soul. His voice burst out wanton and savage in his native tongue.

_“How dare you-_

_Watch me purposelessly._

_How dare you-_

_Look away._

_How dare you-_

_Come to see me…_

_Just to turn your eyes away._

_Look at me-_

_And let me see_

_Your memorizing my insides._

_Silver reflected in your green._

_Your iris mine to dive_

_So face me bastard!_

_Face me! so we’ll both see-_

_How desperately you want to be-_

_Captured by the sight of me,_

_Wretched self-denier!”_

Draco sang with his heart and soul and watched those green eyes widen for him alone. The room filled with the most wrathfully fervent song Draco had had in years, as he frantically thrashed himself against the prong instead of remaining motionless above it to sing as was his usual practice.

 _“Look at me.”_ Those eyes that incensed such passion in Draco had yet to escape him again. Draco was intent on keeping it that way, just wanting _more_ of their attention. Whose gaze was pinning whom down was irrelevant, he only wanted them to see him more. A furor roared in his chest and eyes and head the longer he saw the man still watching him, spreading to the rest of his body, like a wave of heat cresting without ever crashing. Building and building. Draco felt himself become more and more unraveled, succumbing to the pleasure of it. To be listened to. To be seen. Noticed. By those emerald eyes, never impassive or elsewhere again. Under their focus, Draco only wanted to seem… _spectacular_.

 _“Never stop.”_ Draco felt the heat within him peak, more intense than anything he’d had in years.

“ _Look at me and touch-”_

Too soon, his collar vibrated and Draco’s voice cut off, slamming into the time limit and sudden muted silence. He floated there frustrated and hot, song not even half-sung, not finished in time to transition into the end like his usual routine. And he never reached the last centimeter of release as his tired body slid off the prong.

But Draco didn’t care about any of it, only watching the man unable to stop watching him now. Though drained, he smiled for that one human in the crowd, beaming at the green eyes he’d caught, and wishing he could sing of his victory. _See? I can make you feel wonder._

But just like that, their eye contact must end as well. The curtain gently swept closed on his tank as he watched the other disappear. And so ended his audience with the green eyed gem, a specimen of a human Draco could bear to look at and actually want to impress.

Draco’s act hadn’t gone all to plan. But beyond his tank and curtains, the audience still clapped, unknowing and content. Those were the sole results he needed. He had no way of knowing if the green-eyed man had joined them, but Draco still won his attention, and it was enough for him to relish. He’d be leaving with this memory of unquestionable triumph, worth revisiting for any duller days to come.

With greater satisfaction than he had experienced in a long time, he made for the exit.

______________

Relaxing after the show proved more difficult than Draco had anticipated.

The audience had likely been rendered breathless, but his own lungs were even more so, having put actual emotions and effort into his performance tonight. It significantly drained him to have sung and danced so fervently, though he’d easily recover. More worrying was the likelihood that the master might want him to do it with the same energy yet again. His lethargy may well be present every night hereafter, if the especially raving reception today had anything to say about it.

But Draco couldn’t find himself genuinely regretting it, too happy with having enthralled those stubborn green eyes. Everything else felt dangerously inconsequential besides it and his hungry stomach as he made his swim through his tunnel to his ‘home.’

Draco had lived as a captive in this magical creature zoo for years, the star of the show, reserved for the highest paying clientele. Repeating tricks and dances that showed off his sexual appeal hardly affected him, other than the monotony of flipping and singing on command with little reward.

But when all was said and done, other than having his voice inhibited and being forced to perform the same unchanging routine weekly, he hadn’t been severely harmed or mistreated. Certainly, he’d been asked to showcase the most intimate parts of himself—to turn himself into an object of human’s desires—but he was never forced to mate with any humans. And that was a major fortunate circumstance he had going for him, which almost made up for the vulnerability of his losing his one weapon and defense. His voice. Now harnessed and barbless.

It was the same for the muzzled and mitten wearing wolf shifter in the cage next to his tank, who’d given up on conversation with Draco entirely a year ago once he understood Draco’s voice was magically restrained. The master took special care to lock away the too dangerous parts of the magical creatures in his ensemble. The centaur herd were kept docile through potions, the phoenix’s wings remained constantly clipped, the giant was under strength-limiting spells, and the pack of werewolves including his neighbor were routinely made to wear indestructible gloves and masks even when in human form, amongst other tailored practices for other creatures as were needed. And of course, he himself as the last siren alive wore a collar which told him when he could or couldn’t sing.

At least, there was no ‘defanging’ practice which was maiming and painful from what Draco had seen—the Master preferred to preserve his creatures in their ‘natural states’, or at least as natural as one can get cooping and domesticating all manner of magical creatures into one establishment away from their true territories and habitats. Of course, being treated relatively humanely also added the bonus of making them more cooperative.

The Master, Slughorn, was not an altogether awful man, aside from treating them like collectibles, he regarded and cared for his collection well. He valued them in his own way and wished for them a positive experience while in his management, even taking requests from those that could speak as rewards for good behavior and being mindful of their physical health. As for the bad apples, he carefully screened such individuals to never even be accepted and interrupt the peace he’d so far scrupulously cultivated, since the incident with a certain “You-know-who”, something before Draco’s time there that the oldest members of their troop refused to speak about. But still, there was no masking their status of unwanted captivity, no matter how much the Master fed and praised them for their hard work.

“Marvelous work today, Draco! You’ve outdone yourself my boy!” The man’s stomach was the only thing bigger than his jolly laugh as he pat Draco’s shoulder with un-withheld pride. It was hardly a secret that Draco was his favorite to show off. And Draco’s collar conveniently permitted him to speak for the short while he had Slughorn’s attention after-shows, but he couldn’t speak in human tongue either way.

Draco agreed with a tiny hum, not minding and even liking the amiable contact which never went further. 

Slughorn was the kind of man with an ego shameless enough to collect living creatures and profit off them but not having the heart to harm or punish them, nor force them to do his every bidding. His system was based solely on rewards, and somehow it worked amazingly for him. Perhaps because most of his charges were desperate enough for such a deal which was better than most humans that sought to own them would offer.

“True masterpiece, I’ve never seen the audience so moved! Anything you want today in fish, water, new toys! Whatever you desire is on the house-” His speech was distracted by his house elf Peaky appearing suddenly with an announcement just as Luna joined them in the room.

“Master Slughorn, we have a visitor.”

On cue, Draco felt the telltale buzz against his throat that silenced his voice once again. Used to not speaking, the frustration at having his voice suppressed had died in him a long time ago. Regardless if he could sing, no listener existed who could understand the full meaning within his melody.

“Do we?” Slughorn looked down at him, seeming puzzled and likely racking his brain for the individual in question. “Who is it?”

The elf stretched on his tiptoes to speak in his ear while Slughorn tilted precariously to the side to listen, while Draco and Luna shared curious looks. His earlier jubilant face paled considerably as the house elf finished.

“Oh dear…” the man muttered, before exclaiming louder, “By Merlin!” Slughorn nearly jumped out of his skin as he straightened, sweeping back his hair and frantically patting himself down. Peaky followed him dutifully as his master began to waddle out the room in a hurry, pausing just before reaching the hall as if just remembering Draco.

“Sorry Draco, I’ll be back to congratulate you more later,” He called over his shoulder as he went. “You’ll have more free time next week, be sure of it!” Draco received this promise of respite with a nod and smile, and mixed emotions beneath it.

For Draco, being off stage doing whatever he wanted within his confines wasn’t freedom. The only time he and others got to be truly free was when they were put on display for witches and wizards to see and gawk at in all their unclothed and unchained glory. And even then, it was the equivalent of being let loose in a bigger cage. No less controlled.

It was those moments where one could both hate and love something at once… that glorious heart-stealing stage, a window to freedom, to what could be if he really had all those wizards at his mercy. To him, those lights and attention were a curse as much as a temptation. Draco had to believe some of the other creatures there experienced a similar compulsion to be seen _and heard_ , to exist as something real and not merely legend to humans beyond this little world.

To cement the fact they were _alive_.

He still remembered the first days when he used to come on stage singing his heart out, hopeful and desperately wishing someone would be moved enough by his voice to rescue him. But of course, even if they could have understood his song’s pleas, the kinds of humans that attend these sorts of things had no such interests except to enslave him for themselves. He was better off where he was.

He held onto the thought that he was luckier than most, certainly more than the other sirens that no longer existed. Even counting his blessings, receiving his choice meal and so called ‘treats’ over and over again felt less like the reward that Slughorn meant it to be, and more a necessary chore to satiate his terrible hunger after wasting so much magic and energy into his endlessly requested songs.

He wondered how Luna managed it—appearing merely human as far as most could tell. As one of the few creatures deemed without an entertainable skill or qualifying “charisma” as Slughorn liked to call it, she was stuck with odd jobs tending to the other creatures around the establishment, which she rather enjoyed. At least, she seemed to be fond of caring for Draco. But Luna never struck him as the kind of person to complain much about anything, between her mysterious silver linings and being more invested in the unusual thoughts in her own head than life’s happenings outside it. It made it that much harder to stay negative around her.

Luna started to weave the pumpkins out of her flowing yellow curls, pausing between several to help him take off his charmed jewelry. The collar of course always remained after the others were lifted. Unlike his adornments, the pumpkins were her own selection.

She hardly minded her fingers being wet as they returned to her own hair. Luna never dried them off after touching him like others would, one of many things Draco liked about her. Like the plants she wore having a penchant for gradually taking root in her clothes and hair.

After the last particularly stubborn pumpkin vine joined the pile next to her, she tilted her head at him thoughtfully.

“You were on fire today. Did someone special in the crowd ignite it?” she asked. He stared back into her half-fae eyes which both looked at and right through him; she was the one person he didn’t mind not giving their full mental attention while addressing him.

Draco nodded in response and she smiled, expression suddenly so soft, before making her way to the usual chest filled with magically preserved fish, putting several on a plate, and carrying it back over to him. She never failed to act when she noticed he was hungry, a kindness he’d mistaken for self-preservation (based on legends of man-eating sirens) before he realized she had none. Setting it down in front of him on the ledge where he set his elbows and began to eat, she sat with him again.

He ripped into the fish, feeling quite ravenous and uncaring how messily he did so. Luna wasn’t one to judge.

After rolling up the last chain with the other jewelry she’d taken off him and setting it aside, she started speaking again while he ate.

“Today is going to be fun weather Draco. Lots of sun and green fields, can’t forget the Zurrydrinkles, of course.” She spoke of sights Draco had never seen and something Draco was sure she’d only known in her odd dreams. Her strange vocabulary entertained Draco compared to how much it disarmed him when they first met. It had been seven years already since, and neither of them looked a day more aged.

Mid-description of a hill both made of crystal and topped with flowers that would combust with too enthusiastic a breeze, the hands she’d been using to animate her words lowered, gaze suddenly empty as she stopped her rambling to tilt her head at him. “It’s going to be different today.”

He swallowed down another bite of fish and the odd sense of uncertainty. Before he could gesture for her to explain, the sound of Slughorn’s voice returned, this time accompanied by another pair of lighter steps.

“-Highest class of medical care and food and pristine living spaces… As you can see, I treat my charges very well.” Slughorn gestured to the room and let the other man through the entryway.

Draco looked over curiously from his platter of fish past Luna’s shoulder, and recognized the new person immediately.

_Green eyes._

Draco stared at him openly as Slughorn wrung his hands, gaze darting nervously between them.

Strong eyebrows hung over large emerald-colored eyes behind circular glasses. A less pointy nose than Draco’s sat above lips perfect for framing any song they’d sing. The sturdy neck promised a strong voice, and black locks of hair stuck in every direction except the same one as its neighbors. A shirt hugging a firm chest and lean stomach was visible in the opening of his red robes, and below that, long legs which would suit a longer tail.

He looked like he belonged in water.

It hadn’t been more than three seconds before the man had abruptly turned away from Draco to return to conversing with Slughorn. Draco frowned, greatly insulted. No well-earned look of awe and not even a _greeting._ He’d certainly been more expressive when Draco had been singing to him. _Bastard_.

Refusing to linger his attention if the other wouldn’t, Draco made a point of ignoring him back and returned to his meal, making a show of chewing fish bones as noisily as possible to drown out the man’s uninvited company. Glancing up at his still-silent friend, he was disappointed to not find an equally offended, kindred spirit. Luna did not look surprised by the newcomer’s presence nor as affronted by his lack of introduction. But her peaceful gaze fixed, oddly intent, on the rude man.

When said stranger began to talk more animatedly, Draco joined her in paying attention to what the two humans were discussing—or more so _arguing_.

“It doesn’t change that they’re here against their will, Horace. It is in violation of the Magical Creatures Protection Act.” His eyes narrowed on Slughorn, sounding almost disappointed. “You know better.”

Draco had little time to process that before Slughorn had rounded on the taller man.

“ _Better_?” Slughorn’s voice rose, affronted. “Because setting them out back in the wild for nature to take its course and kill them so they can be featured in a museum as bones is so much more humane!?” Slughorn’s face became redder than Draco had ever seen it, the more he spoke.

“The MGPA knows nothing about proper care for these magnificent creatures and their claim of moral superiority is laughable. I ensure my charges’ _safety_ and _preservation_ where they otherwise would be left fending for themselves in the wild where the _real_ dangers to their lives are!” Slughorn said with so much passion, only to seem to recall who exactly he was talking to and caught his breath.

Rather than calming him, Green-eye’s patient expression had the effect of unravelling the Slug Club owner further. Slughorn shook his head, spouting apologies.

“I’m sorry, I only meant… I only wished to save them all. But I know you’re going to take them and I can’t- I cannot…” He struggled for words, and when none came, all of his control seemed to crumble as his face broke into tearful pleads.

“I can’t bear such beautiful creatures to disappear, Harry!” He sounded sincerely mournful. “I can’t help but feel that’s the real crime. When we let them go, there’s no way of preserving them.” How someone could both cage him and seemingly care about his welfare so much had always mystified Draco. Hearing this, he could make _some_ sense of it and give Slughorn the benefit of the doubt that in the human’s eyes, perhaps imprisoning them had been the lesser evil.

The expression of the other man— _Harry_ —surprisingly softened somewhat.

“I know how much… _affection_ you hold for your creatures, Slughorn.” A beat later, Harry’s eyes hardened. “But they are people, not yours to keep or use for financial gain.”

Slughorn started to protest but Harry raised his hand, cutting him off. 

“I know you say you host these shows primarily to create charitable funds so you can run the care for your collection,” Harry added. “And I’ve seen those records, both published and unpublished, which would seem to prove you right.”

The look of relief on Slughorn’s face was palpable as he dried his face with a handkerchief. “Thank you, Harry-”

“But even if it were the case, I can’t look past your holding individuals, humanoid or otherwise, against their will here, no matter how well-meaning you are toward them.” He nodded pointedly to Draco without even looking at him, which would have riled up Draco’s ire if it weren’t for the ensuing confusion he felt at Harry’s next words.

“Having a creature expose itself indecently to an audience is psychologically harmful. It _is_ abusive, no matter if he agreed to it. Given the power dynamics involved, you’ve no excuse for that.”

Abusive? Draco had thought of it as confining if anything else, but he’d still been offered to reject it. And _hurting him?_ What about it had, aside from his pride? It would have been expected of any other creature. Slughorn had merely requested it from Draco because he was, in Slughorn’s words, the star attraction who was ‘simply stunning’— 

Slughorn swallowed to clear his throat before remarking, “His is the only show of that nature.” As if it was any counter to what Harry said. Why doesn’t he explain it better?

“And why is that?” Harry pressed. Draco’s tail flickered impatiently in the water.

 _Because_ they needed someone for the one act, and Draco was _more than_ good at it—for the easily observable fact, musical abilities aside, that Draco was _gorgeous_ by siren and human standards _,_ something Harry had clearly witnessed and wouldn’t be able to forget, with Draco literally being right there. Draco wanted to shout at the man’s playing _stupid_ -

“Because that’s what sirens do,” Slughorn said instead, looking puzzled that it was even a question. “They enjoy seducing humans. It’s just in his nature to whore himself around.”

Draco felt his insides freeze over. For a moment he wished he’d misheard. Or that he could stop understanding Slughorn as the man, who he’d known to only give him compliments and endless accolades for the past seven years, continued on unflatteringly about his mating habits like he’d been talking facts about the weather.

“Siren sex drives are renowned for being quite potent. It does him a favor to have such a consistent outlet,” Slughorn finished matter-of-factly.

He had never questioned it before, why no other creature performed a sexual act but himself. Draco hadn’t thought it meant anything, or to think anything of it. That if it wasn’t him, it might have been asked of someone else, a centaur perhaps or some other majestic humanoid creature. That they needed a single act to pull off for that certain audience, and that the possibility he could refuse meant some other might take the position. Beyond those, the decision had simply been about… the need to be useful and not cast aside. But Slughorn had thought he’d say yes because Draco was a _siren._

In retrospect, Draco should have realized. Yes, sirens had historically weaponized their allure against humans, but that had little to do with siren’s being promiscuous and everything to do with human’s wishing violence upon them. Human’s knew nothing of what sirens had done to survive and why. Between inspiring lust or bloodlust, the choice was easy. Sirens had weaponized their own intimate mating songs to derail and attack sailors that would otherwise have hunted them for their shiny hides. Nothing of this truth would ever occur to the minds of humans though, forever stuck on the idea sirens were sex fiends with a taste for human flesh. And Slughorn thought the same.

He never thought Draco would answer no because of what he was, and Draco had proved him right by accepting to become such an exhibit. Suddenly all the shows before—every instance he turned himself into an instrument for human’s sexual enjoyment and re-imagined it as a success of his magical abilities—tasted rotten in his mouth. The self-delusion and misplaced pride that despite his imprisonment, taking up this activity wasn’t so humiliating since he’d had a choice meant nothing if no one had believed he could refuse such an offer.

_Because that’s what sirens do._

Slughorn’s and any other humans’ opinions about him shouldn’t matter to him. And yet they did. To the point he felt _betrayed._ After all this time, he’d come to like Slughorn as much as one could their captor who had otherwise been gentle and friendly to them. A kind owner who also thought so _little_ of him…

An enraged sound brought Draco back to the present—to Harry grabbing Horace by the collar and staring him down with unwithheld contempt.

“What they do or don’t, or, what they should or shouldn’t do according to their species, isn’t up to you! That’s the point, Horace!” Harry loomed over a startled Slughorn, the same time an impressive wave of magic rose to bear down on all present, wondrous and terrifying. The danger it posed strangely grounded Draco’s otherwise rapidly whirlpooling thoughts, even more than Luna’s hand which found his and held it tightly.

“I would’ve thought,” Harry spoke again, low and cutting, “you learned your lesson the _last time_.”

Whatever ominous ‘last time’ referred to turned Slughorn white as a sheet. He looked positively shaken.

“You’re right,” Slughorn finally managed, chin dipping and eyes lowered. “I’m sorry.”

The magic in the air merely thickened, unpacified. “I’m not the one deserving an apology.”

A long silence ensued between the seething man and the cowed one, as the dense cloud of oppressive magic lingered, flooding the vacuum of unspoken words and poised itself to react with violence. Draco could even feel it enter his lungs as he breathed in. And some of it remained burrowed in his throat as he exhaled, a thread of it winding itself deeper toward his own muffled magic’s center. His inner song stirred in response.

While he was distracted by it, Luna gave Draco’s hand a brief squeeze. And it was all the warning he had before she abruptly stood up, making her way towards the clearly more powerful of the two wizards, and away from him.

She spoke calmly, breaking the quiet tension with her unerring directness. “You’ve come to free us?”

“Yes,” was his simple answer, seeming surprised to be asked. Draco was more surprised he believed him. A part of him knew to. And yet, the confirmation of something he’d desperately wished for, but stopped hoping would ever come, dropped like a rock in his chest rather than lifting a weight off him.

Then Luna smiled so largely and with such appreciation and relief, a gratitude Draco understood but somehow didn’t yet feel-

“Thank you,” she said.

All the oppressive magic slowly receded like the tide, taking what little settling effect it had on Draco with it, and the man smiled softly, “You’re welcome.”

Again, the only sense that welcomed him was dread.

Harry turned back to Slughorn who winced, preferring being forgotten. “I’m not going to arrest you,” Harry said to Slughorn’s blinking eyes. “But I am referring you to a program for addiction. You need to get a hold of your urges to collect living things… or delve in herbology raising _plants_ like normal people. Count this as your final warning. And by last, I _mean it_.”

“Thank you, Harry. It won’t happen again,” Slughorn promised profusely.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Harry said.

There were sounds beyond the door, which had Harry gesture to Luna and Draco with an impatient jerk of his head. “It’s time for them to go.”

 _Go where_ was an important piece Draco needed, mind still reeling with ‘ _free?_ ’ and ‘ _yes_ ,’ and ‘ _whore himself around_ -‘

“At least, let me say goodbye to them?” Slughorn phrased only the end of it as a question, probably realizing he held little leg room for requests.

“Alright,” Harry acquiesced.

Slughorn twirled to face them, with unbridled fondness and brimming heartache at his impending loss of his precious creatures.

“Come here my Dears,” Slughorn called to Luna and him as he ambled toward them with weepy cheeks and open arms.

Luna went ahead and hugged the shorter man back, patting him on the back consolingly and saying something Draco missed that made the Master—their Master no longer—laugh.

Pulling back, he shook his head, dabbing his watery eyes on his sleeve. “Ah, I will miss your peculiarities, Lovegood.” He gave her one last pat on the shoulder, before he set upon Draco.

“And where is my lovely siren?” When Slughorn approached him with clear intentions to embrace him as well, Draco coldly turned away and swam further out, just enough to keep beyond his reach.

Slughorn stood there at the edge of the pool, dumbfounded, never having been so disregarded by Draco before. _He should have been_.

Draco couldn’t even look at him, not while knowing what Slughorn truly thought of him now. Any affection he’d felt for the man was complicated by everything that just transpired, kept pinned under competing hurt, fear, confusion, and anger all at once. It was already more than he could bear.

“What is it, Draco?” Slughorn insisted. “Have I done something, dear Boy?”

Draco did look at him then, with a glare filled with so much spite that only astonished Slughorn further.

‘ _Not... whore_ ,’ he mouthed, pointing to himself. Slughorn’s shocked comprehension and guilt following it were worth the effort.

Still, Slughorn didn’t stop trying to reel in Draco’s goodwill, more ardently praising him now than ever before, hoping to avoid leaving Draco slighted for their most likely last encounter. Gone suddenly was his overly simplified speech of before, all the times he’d made his language childproof for Draco when he wanted to really get some instruction across. After several failed attempts to coax Draco’s unresponsive attention back to him and making several more equally fruitless apologies, Slughorn stepped back from the pool, quite disappointed and regretful.

“I wish to have left on better terms with you, Draco,” Slughorn said to his half-submerged head. “Know that I will always hold a high opinion of you.” It was almost enough to make Draco acknowledge him, if only because of Slughorn confirming he realized for the first time that Draco could and had understood _everything_ he said.

Draco resisted.

A telling look from Harry had Slughorn’s shoulders falling, chastened and defeated. But Luna wasn’t one to let anyone go feeling miserable, even the undeserving.

“Goodbye Mr. Slughorn,” Luna said, which cheered the old man considerably.

“ _Thank you,_ Luna,” Slughorn smiled, and then clapped his hands together, re-donning his jovial self.

“Goodbye you two. It’s been a wondrous seven years together I will never forget. I wish you the best. And you both will always be my favorites!” His parting announcement was met with Luna’s friendly waving, while Draco stayed where he was, unmoved.

“Let’s go,” Harry prompted him along. Slughorn hesitated only a moment, giving them one last wistful look, before joining him.

“Can I see the others?” Slughorn asked as they walked out of sight.

“Be quick about it.”

“Of course.”

Soon the two men were through the door and disappeared down the hallway. And both Draco and Luna were left alone again.

Draco immediately swam back over to the edge of the pool to be next to her, seeking his friend’s reassurance that they’d be okay while everything around them was changing. But looking up at her, the alarmed disquiet within him multiplied. He had never seen Luna look at him so intentionally and with that much focus before, as if she was trying to memorize all of him before she no longer had the chance to.

Before he could make a questioning gesture, she succeeded where Slughorn failed, hugging Draco tightly to her. Rather than the safety and comfort it provided him on many occasions before, he didn’t know why her gripping him so tightly frightened him instead.

When she let go of him, his nameless distress became realized at the unwavering _finality_ in her features that faced him.

“This is a _good_ bye, Draco.” She smiled at him, tapping her fingers on his forehead. “Our playtime here and together is done.”

He didn’t like the sound of that and made as much of his body language say so. He saw no reason why they had to be separated, or why Luna was so sure of herself. She couldn’t be right about this; Draco wouldn’t _let her._

Unfortunately, others were set on proving her uncanny forecasts true.

Draco noticed the doors opening behind her again where Slughorn and Harry had disappeared—only for two men in red robes the same as Harry’s to enter the room instead. Draco began to panic as they came up to them and stood by on either side of Luna, who still hadn’t turned away from him.

“I’ll need you to come with us, Miss.” One instructed.

When he looked back up to her, the panicking, protective part of him ready to drag her into the water with him, she gave him one last marvel: her expression being minutely sad. And it floored him completely into inaction for that moment.

“We’ll see each other again someday. Not in this world.” She smiled again, only this time brighter. “But when a Rowling pens a red rock.”

Draco needed her to tell him how to keep her.

“It will be ok.”

Draco couldn’t understand. Nor ask what she meant. His throat worked frantically, but nothing could make it past the collar keeping him painfully silent. 

She understood anyway.

 _Don’t leave me_.

And then she had to. The men gently took her away from Draco, who couldn’t hoist himself and his heavy tail up the side of his pool’s rim fast enough. Long hair swaying, she was marched off between the red robes as she looked over her shoulder at him with a smile probably meant to be comforting. 

Draco can’t even sing goodbye or scream at her to fight and come back and stay with Draco, where she belonged.

Where he belonged.

As if reading his thoughts one last time, she raised her voice, but not to say goodbye again.

“You won’t need me, Draco.” Draco didn’t want that sort of guarantee if it meant she wouldn’t be there.

“Promise,” she said, before disappearing past the doorframe where Draco couldn’t see her anymore.

But it was alright, because Draco was able to pull himself out and they didn’t close the door. He painstakingly dragged himself across the floor, making his way toward the doorway by his arms alone. The concrete sloughed roughly against his scales but mattered little to him.

When he finally made it enough to pass his head and shoulders through, Draco didn’t see Luna further to his left where she should be, but more of _them_ , Red Robes—walking to and fro in either direction of the long hallway, with other creatures and humanoids between them, all familiar faces just like Luna, leaving.

No _,_ being _taken._

One of the Red Robes noticed him halfway across the hallway. “Hey! It’s the siren!” The announcement was followed by others turning towards him.

Draco didn’t wait for them to grab him too. Quickly, he reversed his direction, going back the way he came, made easier by the slippery trail of water he left behind when coming from it. He strained his arms until the footsteps behind him couldn’t make it in time to catch his tail as it slid back into the pool. He didn’t even bother looking back to see what they would do to pursue him.

Finding Luna was more important.

He dove deep and planned to travel through his tunnels to his various tanks, five in total—Slughorn’s gift that had allowed him to roam the building with relative ease despite his need for water for locomotion—trying to spot her. But he always missed her somehow. While scanning every which way for unmistakable long and pale hair, the red robes and hoods seemed to be everywhere, in front of every creature and holding place in the whole facility. But nowhere was Luna among them.

Red Robes moved outside all five of his tanks, and near all the tunnels interconnecting them.

First tank. No Luna. His neighboring werewolf to that particular tank was also missing—the gloves and the muzzle the only evidence of his ever being there. The playpen for the baby cat-boar, their new addition to the troupe, was quiet and flipped on its side. Just two groups of Red Robes huddled together in conversation, Draco left before they could notice him—

Second tank that left him view into the “Winged Room”, the same. A spot clearly laid empty where several bird cages should be, a phoenix’s among them, who sometimes sang for Draco when his longing to hear his own voice was especially strong. Only some loose feathers left behind and no Luna, and footsteps entering—

Third tank, where he had spent most of his recreational time, playing with toys or laying on the soft kelp bed to rest. It was also adjacent to Luna’s room. The neighboring lounge with the puffy chair Luna would always sit in and read him stories to help him understand human language, regardless of his being unable to speak it back. Luna wasn’t waiting for him here, just Red Robes appearing around the corner suddenly—

His fourth tank, the show stage, and his last area he would be able to check. He found no one there either. Luna was gone. There were no more familiar faces in the audience, only red robes in the pews, taking measurements and levitating and packing things that didn’t belong to them. The trident stood tall in the face of everything but offered Draco no more real refuge than it ever had. It and his song on this stage never once saved him. And the crystal-clear water, designed to make him as visible as possible, didn’t start to hide him from the uninvited audience now. Even more Red Robes congregated and pointed their sticks at him. Draco swam away while he could.

Fifth and final tank, back to where he started. He had come back to where he had begun the day, thinking it would be the same as every other— _boring_ . To think he’d prefer it remained that way—that today could have been like any other before it. Now, it was the place he’d see both the closest thing he had to _home_ and Luna, his nearest family, for the last time.

So there, he decided to remain for as long as he could.

______________

It felt like hours, but it was likely only minutes, he was left there waiting for them to come and take him. The men in red robes did not fail his expectations, filing into the room, and immediately approaching him. They made obvious attempts to communicate with him to get out of the water and to come with them. But Draco didn’t cooperate with any of them. He would fight to his last breath. Whether they meant well for him or not was irrelevant.

They stopped approaching him directly when they had enough of his evasive maneuvers. Soon magical spells were being flung at him, but the spells meant to be cast in air, were slower in water where Draco was faster. Still, they managed to cut off two tunnels to the other tanks, and no doubt had done so with all the others. The sheer volume of spells would catch up to him eventually, and he would be caught.

He didn’t care. He just wanted Luna back.

As he dodged and dove deeper into his pool, he realized he wanted them _all_ back, not just Luna, or the werewolf, or the phoenix, but everyone and everything as it had been just this morning. He wished to preserve it. Perhaps, he understood Slughorn’s need to keep them all in the same place after all.

But there was nobody else left, same as his last refuge of water that the wizards magically drained to trap him in the newly dry pool.

Nobody.

Just Draco.

Red robes.

And Green eyes.

In all his red robed glory, the man descended and dismounted off a flying broom to stand a few feet away and stare at Draco, who remained at the bottom of his pool of vanished water save for the tiny inch of puddle he sat in, where he watched the ceiling’s reflection. His safe place turned into a bowl with high walls that had no way of escape.

Draco didn’t even look up at him.

He didn’t wonder why it was him and not another red robe to approach him. Perhaps Harry wanted to rub it in, that the only one who had been really defeated today had been Draco after all. Whatever feelings of triumph Draco had held over the man earlier today seemed like a joke. Rather than just another human rendered mute under his song’s influence, this one had been the one responsible for why his residence and one friend had said goodbye to him for good.

This human would not let Draco forget _who really was in control._

If Draco had a shred of pride left, he might have stuck up his nose at him, like he didn’t care. But Draco was too tired to do more than hold himself up.

“Why are you putting up so much of a fight?” he asked.

Without Luna, he would have _no one_ , and freedom wasn’t worth this. How could _he_ understand— _a human that had plenty of his own kind to identify with and be close to_ —a being like Draco— _the last of a nearly extinct species with only a single friend that wasn’t here anymore_ —unless the human was told? But this man would never hear it, because Draco couldn’t communicate a damn thing to a non-siren, collar or not.

“You understand right?”

Draco didn’t respond.

A long sigh sounded above him and abruptly, he felt a tap to his neck he had no energy to react to, followed by a strange sensation.

Or lack thereof.

The hand pulled back and with it, a very familiar silver inlaid collar glinted without a neck inside it, its polished surface reflecting Draco’s own eyes that it had been created to match.

“You’re free,” Harry said, wording the obvious as if it would sink into him faster to garner the appropriate response, like jumping for joy or hugging his rescuers. Draco was supposed to be. In all his dreams of escape, he had. But those had been just that, _imaginings._

Instead, Draco was left staring at the metal collar in Harry’s hand, uncomprehendingly. He saw no kind act behind it, but a _cruel_ one. What else could he call that hand, which knew him for less than a day, taking from his neck the weight that had been solidly a part of it for seven years? Freed from or _stolen_ …

Unable to keep looking at something he learned to identify with his body without feeling more foreign to himself, Draco stared at Harry instead.

Doing so did not change the reality that his neck was lighter without it when he lifted it, nor change the effect the unfairly green eyes had on him, inspiring too many emotions. Draco blinked, as the confusion, astonishment, and loss seemed to hit even stronger than before, and did not lessen even as he turned away from both human and collar entirely.

He felt strange, surreal. Afraid with it off, more naked— _ridiculous,_ sirens never wear clothes…

Draco’s hands had started twitching without his notice. For a moment, he was certain he was in a dream gone wrong, recalling all the different creatures he’d known for so long disappear before his very eyes past his different tanks and tunnels, as more and more red robes came to take them. And Draco still didn’t know where he was going.

All he knew was breathing without the collar was suffocating. _He needed it._ But Draco could no longer see it. Both of the other’s hands were empty when he looked again.

The trembling worsened.

He didn’t know when it started. He just knew it didn't feel like it would end, just like this nightmare wouldn’t. Nothing felt real. And nothing was left to stabilize him. No metal covering his throat and no Luna.

Where had she gone?

Where would _he_ go?

If he were sent back to the ocean, Draco would be back where he started. Was that worth leaving here?

 _It wasn’t_.

The shaking in his hands spread to full body tremors. The other presence seemed to recognize his terror. Perhaps Draco wore it openly. Draco had no way of knowing what face he was making right now. He was too lost.

“-Don’t yet. He’s in shock,” He heard someone say, an echo from nearby.

A body, he felt more than saw, crouched down besides his own, voice lowered.

“It’s alright.” 

_How can it be?_

“You’re safe now.”

 _What if he isn’t?_ Draco would be leaving and what was waiting outside for him? _Nothing._

“You’ll be in control of your own life again.”

Maybe somewhere along the way being told what to do every day had been a sort of freedom and he was terrified to make any decisions on his own again. _Maybe he doesn’t want to be._

Memories of being out in the ocean, alone and with nobody to call his own… Sleeping on an empty stomach in that cold and silence that went on and on and on. He already knew what real freedom was: _despair_.

The pang of grief overflowed in a splash of sound. Out his mouth. And he froze, startled at being in the wrong place—the wrong stage to do so, when another upset noise followed in response to his confusion—croaky and weak.

Hearing his own voice so freely unnerved him, surreal to the point of frightening. _Wrong_. He couldn’t remember what it was like without it tampered down, while every instinct told him he should be silent.

But his fear did not stop the sound of his voice spilling out too easily, first beginning in disjointed bits and the longer ones until Draco sang a full note. And then another.

And then it was a torrent as his voice broke out into all of his emotions of loss, fear and mourning.

His songful sobs were only encouraged by the gentle murmurings of comforting lies he wanted to believe.

“Shh. shh. It’s alright.”

“It’s okay.”

“You’re okay.”

He sobbed like he hadn’t since he was a young child, face buried in his hands as he let the world he knew fully fall apart in his mind like it already had around him.

Through his watery eyes, even amongst the release of both recent and buried emotions, he could see the other look like he didn’t know what to do with his hands or Draco, despite his soft verbal reassurances. Eventually he had enough sense to put them on Draco.

For a moment Draco had the desire to attack him just because he could defend himself. He finally had the option with his newly freed voice, and he wanted to use it. But just as easily as he thought it, it passed.

Because Draco’s one motivation hadn’t changed—even after all these years a pampered captive in the human world—the same reason why he had even bothered to come here to the human world in the first place.

Draco didn’t want to be _alone_.

His song sought comfort in the chest pressed against his face, which he clung to greedily.

Then and only then, with arms wrapped around him and the press of a close body to his own and lulling voice against his hair, did he feel something like gratitude, and warmth as the magic of the other fully accessed his soul song and magic, holding and covering it like a warm blanket that soothed him so deeply.

Like this, he cried until he was gone to the world.


	2. Goodbye to the Moon

Rather than the open ocean, Draco awoke to new human faces that, unlike the gazes of strangers he was used to, did not regard him with open admiration or want. No—by the way in which they studied him, it felt less like they appreciated his looks and were more interested in what he was _made of_ instead.

Draco wasn’t necessarily keen on this development.

These humans who watched him but did not interact, mostly came in and out of doors within a hallway outside his water filled container. They observed him from a window that made up an entire wall of his tank on one of its longer sides—the three remaining walls were as white as the uniforms they wore. They wrote on boards stacked thick with paper, and conversed with each other as they moved back and forth through the long hall. A hall which, as far as Draco could see, held no visible creatures further down it besides himself.

From what little of their conversations he could hear through the thick glass, Draco was frustratingly only able to piece together a few snippets—something about assigning him a keeper, whatever that was.

But they were always careful not to engage with him, avoiding looking him in the face and eyes for too long, something that had frustrated Draco beyond belief for the first hours he’d been here. So Draco stayed far away from them near the opposite three walls of the tank instead, ducking behind some coral for privacy.

His _new home_ as it were, only left him one tank he currently inhabited—albeit larger than the others he’d had with Slughorn. But he had no free movement around the facility to occupy himself, nor a specific tank dedicated to his privacy. In that regard, this was a downgrade from Slughorn’s network of tanks made for Draco. Not to mention, the considerable lack of neighbors beyond Draco’s tank might imply he was the sole creature there, which was becoming an even larger concern of his than his reduced area of travel.

Slughorn, who had provided him considerably more than this, had wrongly thought of Draco as sexually promiscuous. What must this set of humans think of him then, who didn’t even bother to so much as talk to him?

The only company he had to speak of were certain individuals dressed in blue shirts and shorts that would come through a door on the floor above his tank to clean the ceiling and surrounding walls with their wands. Or at least, that was the only thing Draco caught them doing. Draco watched them curiously above the water’s surface, but they didn’t heed him any. Draco eventually returned to examining the finer decorations of his new tank instead.

It wasn’t much: coral, sand, and a section of soft seabed, which was leagues less comfortable than the one at the Troupe had been. Somewhere throughout the day, boredom became tiredness and he dozed off.

A person, not dressed in blue or white—his keeper Draco guessed, appeared sometime later.

He had short red hair and blue eyes, and his relaxed face seemed friendly enough. And when Draco swam up to the edge to look closer at him, he was the first to actually wave and greet Draco. The generous muscles on his arms stood out as he worked on some pipes leading into the tank. He wasn’t bad on the eyes and he left Draco well-enough alone, rather than taking notes on him and every minor action of his.

His presence remained a welcome distraction as Draco openly stared at his pert behind from underwater, consideringly. A human being the one to inadvertently give him a show for once entertained him for quite a while. And it allowed his mind to take a break from processing the stark change of his location.

After an hour or so of hard work that had him all sweaty—really he should just join Draco in the cool water—he left to go elsewhere with another wave that Draco returned. Draco remained content with dozing off. 

It was well and good for a few hours.

Until it was time for Draco to be fed, as evidenced by the buckets of fish the redhead had brought in from the door that Draco immediately smelled. Realizing his hunger, he made for the surface quickly. But before Draco could make it, he watched in great offense as his food was tossed into the water at him instead of put on a plate, as if he was some beggar expected to collect his food haphazardly thrown in without concern.

All friendliness he’d acquired for the clear _heathen_ evaporated.

Of all the things that had occurred to him today, _this_ he would not stand for quietly without making his complaints known. He did collect all those crudely dumped fish then, but not for any rudimentary purpose like eating.

A fish smacking against the man’s back got his attention. Startled, the redhead turned around only to face a volley of dead fish Draco hurled violently at him, flashing his teeth and scales aggressively all the while. Once he’d emptied his arms, Draco sneered at the dumbfounded man. Sliding out the water the rest of the way, Draco began to hiss and drag himself toward him, ready to toss the same fish scattered on the ground all over again, causing the red-head to scurry away and shut the door behind him.

He did not return.

Anger sated, but stomach not, he ignored the latter for the salient taste of victory. Still, he mulled over his current situation that so far had dashed any positive expectations he’d been left by the “ _you’re free_ ” told to him so certainly before.

Was this the supposed freedom Harry had promised? So far, at least in terms of being caged up and being fed, it was little different from his treatment with Slughorn, and the fish he was being _tossed_ weren’t as exotic now or tailored to Draco’s preferences.

The simplest answer was usually the correct one. Harry was a liar.

But the simplest answer was also often the most disappointing. Draco wished he’d been telling the truth.

He went to sleep on an empty stomach and with an even emptier chest that night.

______________

Unfortunately, the next morning brought much of the same. Several more individuals tried the same indirect tactics of feeding Draco, with the same results. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and multiple approaches for each, all kinds of humans appeared attempting to feed him. He reacted negatively every time, tossing fish and at one point, their feeding buckets back at them. Pouring out his food in the pool, or on the floor outside it, or leaving it untouched in a bucket were all the same to him.

Being cooped up in the same square space, no matter how large, also did nothing for his mood to reward their slightly _better_ innovations. The levitating fish was a neat trick but seemed too much like cheating his standards. And he’d rather not choke mid swallow on a still floating bite of trout.

No one had the brilliant idea to simply serve it _on a clean, flat plate._

Soon enough he’d scared them all away, which he found funny. If he was so intimidating in a manner that had them running for their lives—implying he could be dangerous—then why bother holding him up here, wherever here was, at all? They certainly weren’t _using_ him for anything, not anything as direct as entertainment anyway. The only thing Draco could give them credit for was being subtle with their intentions.

This, and the humans currently in possession of him weren’t _that_ stupid and eventually caught on, starting to leave food out for him in a flatter tub when he hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t quite a plate, but Draco could acknowledge this improvement at least. He came out to eat more often.

He did this for another day or two.

Still, since those interactions, no keepers or cleaners would even come near him now. The humans in white coats that once stood in front of his tank’s glass wall were strangely absent as well, as if Draco’s aggression to the ones that fed him had made them vanish also. Though he thought he saw a few sneakily leaving the window to his tank when he woke up after a nap once.

He only was fed and left alone, and that suited him for a while. But soon he felt uncomfortable about how long he’d been without seeing or being seen by any humans. Perhaps, he’d performed too well in scaring them away.

Also he had the unfortunate realization that his body had embarrassingly gotten used to human attention, specifically of the sexual kind. And he was now in a setting where he wouldn’t have that either. His habit to sexually stimulate himself didn’t go away just because he was out of the Troupe. So more and more often, out of sheer lack of anything better to do for the most part, he found himself touching his intimate areas passingly. Of course, without a potion to induce arousal or the call of a discovered mate, he could never become aroused more than a slight itch. His member could never slip out his slit more than a peek, which only added to his already pressing frustrations.

This and other consequences from his time at the Troupe revealed themselves the longer he _wasn’t_ back there. He was used to getting ready for shows everyday, and found himself waking up to get ready, only to remember there would be no more audiences to come and see him. Halfway through the day, he’d feel strange at not being praised once, finding himself waiting fruitlessly to be told how beautiful and captivating he was. And he’d find himself glancing at his tail to reassure himself that his silver scales hadn’t lost any of their luster compared to yesterday. There was also the glaring difference that Slughorn, the phoenix, and most importantly, Luna, themselves weren’t here. The absence of Luna, who’d always comforted him and told him all kinds of stories and _touched him_ , hurt the most.

Without their voices, he was truly alone.

Staring at his partially translucent reflection in the glass, Draco imagined for a moment he was looking back at another siren. But his eyes had to notice his empty neck, and the memory of _it_ , the collar and its removal, made everything seem to stop for him all over again. And then he wanted nothing to do with anything.

Suddenly exhausted, he curled onto his sea bed as he tied one of the kelp around his neck, a makeshift weight to pretend he wasn’t here, but back at the Troupe… feeling Luna’s arms around him. And, more strangely—even after only having felt it once—the echo of a man’s touch and too-green eyes that had both upended his life and comforted him for it, resonated with something deep within himself that had no name. This man was also nowhere to be seen, and Draco had the sinking feeling, he wouldn’t find him again either—not even to demand answers, which only fueled his depressed stupor upon waking.

All his energy and appetite he lost seemingly overnight.

The following days, Draco refused his meals and stayed sullenly at the bottom of his tank. He hated these new humans who wouldn’t interact with him at all, ignoring the part that was his fault for doing his best to scare them away. Food seemed much less important than his wishes to be back with Luna, and even Slughorn.

He wondered how long he could keep it up. In the ocean, he’d gone for quite a while on very little. It must have been nearly four days already with Draco not eating. This morning he decided to lay at the edge of the pool outside it to sunbathe—considering what it was like to be a plant who only needed sun and water; there’d be no way to lob sunshine at him crassly for one—when he saw a familiar face.

Disbelievingly, he lifted his head the rest of the way at him, tired but curious.

“Figured _you_ would be a troublesome one.” Rather than a warmer greeting Draco somehow expected given their last emotional exchange—albeit on Draco’s end—Draco was met with a stern, matter of fact expression and neutral, green eyes.

Harry approached him, missing the regal red robes of days ago, and dressed casually in shorts and a shirt that left little to the imagination. Draco ignored his heart hammering excitedly in his chest at finally being interacted with, to give the dishonest man his best glare.

Despite his obvious expression and hiss of warning, Harry casually sat across from Draco with the bucket of fish next to him. And _no plate,_ Draco noted sourly.

Without any introduction, Harry launched into answering the questions that had been silently festering in Draco since he’d found himself there.

“You’re probably wondering why you’re here. I’m sorry that wasn’t communicated to you. Most people don’t know you can understand.” Something in his voice betrayed some remembered irritation; Draco was more surprised to be given an apology at all, though not for what Draco wanted.

Harry clearly misread the reason behind Draco’s questioning look.

“You’re at a Rehabilitation Center for Aquatic Magical Creatures which you will stay at temporarily before your release,” Harry elaborated. “Here, we want to make sure to get you back to the wild—once assured you’re _healthy_ enough to be that is,” he emphasized, staring across at Draco from behind glasses that made his already prominently green eyes look even larger. “But we need a safe place to release you first. Since most reservations are forest based, you’ll be stuck with us until we find or create an appropriate ocean reserve.”

Draco reacted to this news with both relief and disappointment. So this _wasn’t_ intended to be a permanent place for him. Draco should be grateful for this, but it was quickly overshadowed by fears of being sent back to the sea. These humans that thought they were doing what was best for him—just like Slughorn—had no way of knowing just how badly he wished not to go back there. There was no doubt in Draco’s mind they would not let him stay here to live amongst them in the human world, no matter how much he fought and shouted.

Sending him to the ocean wasn’t something Draco would call freedom, when it was the one place he’d left intending to never return. Draco would rather go back to the Troupe and be with Luna, but he was not foolish enough to believe any of the place was left besides a building, empty of anyone _. Just like the ocean._ A shudder ran up his shoulder despite himself.

He looked up in time to see passing concern on the other’s face. So not _completely indifferent_ to Draco then.

“You have to eat or you’ll starve.” He gestured to the bucket of fish he placed between his crossed legs. Draco eyed the fish dubiously, wary of a trap. There’d been the one girl who tried to get him to snarl in order to stuff his face with fish. He’d been particularly ardent in terrifying that one away.

Draco turned up his nose at him, tail flicking water, unimpressed. He was plenty experienced with near starvation if it had to come to it.

“We’re trying to figure out what exactly you’re protesting,” Harry added. His fingers tapped one fish in his hands thoughtfully, which Draco felt his stomach grumble silently for. Maybe he should worry that the strong hands seemed to increase the edibility of the fish at some point. Or it was just a matter of the fingers holding his overdue meal so _casually_ which thoroughly weakened his resolve to not be tempted.

“We’re struggling to know what it is you want. Of course, it’s made more difficult because you can’t tell us what it is exactly,” Harry nodded toward him.

Draco might have rolled his eyes, if he wasn’t actually distracted by his realization of the man’s surprising talkativeness. Gone was his cold aloofness of the other day post-show, almost as if he was an altogether different person. It reminded him a bit of Luna actually, and he felt himself relaxing. Then again, he had cried in the man’s arms, that warranted _some acknowledgment_ the man couldn’t justifiably ignore.

Harry offered him a fish then—cold scales on a warm palm.

Because it was in his hand (not on the floor or the water or left in a bucket) and he _was hungry_ , he slowly made his way over—only to impulsively eat it straight out of Harry’s hand instead of his own. Before Draco could fully process the brief and _wanted_ contact of a thumb grazing his cheek as he bit into the fish, Harry let go of it in shock.

Draco shut his mouth, swallowing, and waited. For a second, neither moved.

Blinking, Harry slowly picked it up again, staring at him all throughout his action. Draco didn’t care if the other thought him odd for it, having just discovered he quite liked this new manner of eating. And evidently Harry, despite his initial pause, was still willing to try again.

Once again, the other presented the fish, this time with both hands and without dropping it while Draco dug in. As he ate, he enjoyed where the other’s skin brushed his nose and the way the fingers would twitch in response. Yes, much better than a plate.

After devouring the first fish, he did the same with the others, ignoring any Harry wasn’t directly holding and only eating what Harry gave him. For the second hand-fed fish, as soon as Harry would try to let go of it, Draco would stop eating, disrupting all Harry’s attempts to make him eat by himself until Harry gave in.

“You’re a strange one,” Harry finally murmured, but his hand finally stayed still for Draco to finish.

Draco would-if-he-could, say the same thing back to him. As it was, he kept eating the fish Harry held out for him. So began a pattern, Harry, exasperated but intrigued, would hand Draco each fish, who would chew it in his hands, until he risked biting Harry’s with what little there was left of that particular fish.

As he steadily chewed away, he noticed the man’s eyes on his makeshift kelp-collared neck at one point. Harry frowned, but thankfully kept whatever comment he had about it to himself. And they remained in silence for another good four fish that Draco finished in peace, before the other spoke again.

“Funny...” Harry’s eyes narrowed on Draco. “I don’t remember seeing you having to eat out of people’s hands.”

Draco raised his eyebrows with an innocent look and no explanation, pointedly waiting for him to offer the next fish to Draco’s waiting mouth. Regardless of his clear suspicion, Harry obliged, surprisingly obedient. Not that Draco hadn’t appreciated the moments Harry defied him during their very first interactions _, a little._

Despite the feelings of betrayal Draco had felt so strongly only days ago toward the man, he found himself drawn to him—and not in anger. Having been given details of his circumstances helped things. Though he did rile Draco up, it was currently a manageable vexation that Draco kind of enjoyed, and most irritation was outweighed by the relief Harry’s presence brought just by interrupting Draco’s tedious isolation.

By the time most of the fish were gone, his face lingered above the man’s hands, going slower and slower by the end of it. The need to prolong contact and nearness with someone after being without for so long had him stretching his usual pace. If Harry mistook it for Draco eating slower as he got fuller… well, Draco wasn’t going to correct him.

Eventually he could eat no more. With a full stomach, he reluctantly pulled back from the physical closeness he still hungered after. As soon as he had, Harry stood up, stretching his back and arms. Draco wanted to poke them.

“Don’t get too used to it,” Harry said, gruffly, slinging the empty buckets over his broad shoulders.

Draco grinned haughtily at the man’s retreating back.

So he said, but Harry didn’t stop feeding Draco that way for either lunch or dinner.

______________

For the days that followed, at all three mealtimes, Harry would always appear. Partly, because Draco personally ensured their arrangement persisted unchanged.

Since Harry’s miraculous interaction with Draco that hadn’t gone immediately south, there had been several new perilous undertakings from the other staff, targeting Draco to accept other keepers. Draco, however, refused them all, behaving as intolerably as possible at any eyes coming through his door that weren’t green. Ultimately, the one thing he could control was who got to be his keeper. And Harry having been the only human with a spine to face Draco at his nastiest, was thereby the only worthwhile one, he’d decided. Tough luck to anybody else.

So continued his and Harry’s small exchanges over his meals, that Draco patiently looked forward to everyday. Every time Draco saw him, Draco acted as if he hadn’t been eagerly anticipating Harry’s arrival in the slightest; looking for all the world impassive. Although, judging by Harry’s altogether too-pleased greetings, Draco had the suspicion his overactive tail gave him away.

Harry, for his part, always bided his time setting up next to Draco, letting Draco be the one to approach him first.

Draco enjoyed making Harry wait for him too much to be annoyed, making a show of deigning the human with his magnificent presence. If he rehearsed occasionally just how he would pick himself up, out of the water and saunter his way over to Harry, that only showed how dedicated he was to knock the human down a peg.

For all his effort, regrettably, Harry never looked impressed. One day, soon, Draco would again dumbfound him with his charm, certain the man that had blushed like mad when Draco sang on stage had not been an illusion. As it stood, Draco was content with their current tentative acquaintance and had no wish to disturb it.

Initially, ever since the first meal, the human didn’t talk much at all, just watched Draco eat, which suited Draco fine. Silent company was still company, simply better than nothing. So Draco would relax with the familiar sensation of having someone to eat with. Harry’s eyes being fixed on Draco the whole while also heartened him.

But over time, after a few weeks or so, Harry began to speak to him about other things, small bits and pieces about his daily life slipping into his casual one-sided conversation with Draco here and there. And it was so much like Luna used to do—talking to him when he ate—that any anxiety left in Draco would ease.

Learning about Harry was fascinating. He turned out to be a young veteran to a war Draco had no prior knowledge of. And when he wasn’t working at the center, he was a reserve for the Aurors—the red robed individuals—when they dealt with cases involving captivity and trafficking of magical creatures. Though he was rarely called into action it seemed.

He also was amazingly skilled at a flying broom game called Quidditch. His position of choice was seeker, someone who apparently flew amazingly fast from what Draco understood. Draco started to think of Harry like he would the phoenix, a creature similarly destined to conquer the skies, and liked the image he made.

Harry’s favorite reading material of course were the Quidditch magazines he would sometimes bring while keeping Draco company at lunch, which Draco disliked immensely at first, hard put to tolerate any distraction from himself when this was the only time for interaction Draco had all day. Still, Draco didn’t mind the pages full of pictures when Harry was actively pointing things out in it to better explain Quidditch to him. Nor did they ever consume the entirety of Harry’s attention away from him, often forgotten and put aside by the time Draco was a third of the way into his meal.

If Harry did manage to get obviously sidetracked by some internal thoughts Draco wasn’t privy to, Draco sometimes would purposely flex his silver tail to reflect the light and make Harry look.

Another thing Draco noticed about Harry was his scar, jagged shaped and sitting on his forehead above his right eyebrow. It’s pattern that branched out was weirdly mesmerizing, like the roots of a tree. Draco didn’t understand how he could have missed it before. But now that he noticed it, he sometimes found it difficult to look away. Harry preferred hiding it behind his hair it would seem, just like his eyes. A real shame. Draco thought both too wonderful to conceal.

Of course, Harry as a whole had nothing on Draco’s own appearance though.

The rest of the day without Harry was terribly dreary. Draco’s surroundings lacked anything else of remarkable note. Draco sometimes regretted turning away every other human who had applied to be his keeper, even though he was mostly sure that they would have _replaced Harry_ rather than created an extra allotted time to spend with him separately. He was better off with Harry as is. Still, Draco got the impression, that those humans in white suits (who had made a reappearance since his positive reception of Harry) did not actually approve of Harry’s meal-delivery-turned-social-visits with Draco, but their disapproving stares from the other side of the glass might have been his imagination.

Aside from making Draco’s daily life there at the Rehabilitation Center bearable, the other’s continuous presence didn’t change his reality of loss all that much. He still missed Luna and this place didn’t feel like home. But it was something, nonetheless.

At times like these, sitting across from Harry, he desperately wished he could ask the other what he knew of Luna’s fate.

Instead, Draco bit into another mouthful of fish as Harry mentioned his friends Ron and Hermione again, complaining—good naturedly—about their unnecessarily fervent public displays of affection when he was around.

“There’s being comfortable and then too comfortable,” Harry mused aloud, already holding out the next fish to Draco. “I worry sometimes they forget I exist when they look at each other, which is fine… but… well, maybe not.” Draco thought he almost caught a sad quality too his voice, before Harry started theorizing how many children they might have together and if that was weird to be curious about—Draco was a siren and wouldn’t know human’s standards for weirdness—which was around the time Draco stopped listening to his words entirely to pay more attention to Harry’s hands.

Lately, Draco was, more and more, preoccupied with wanting those hands to be put on him. And not even in a particular fashion, as long as they _touched_ him _._ But they never did, Draco was always the one to initiate it and only while eating. 

Touches never took place beyond where Draco’s mouth might graze Harry’s palms and fingers, or his greedy hands might hold Harry’s hands up for himself to have better access to the fish cupped in their palms.

Even at present, Draco was having difficulty not forgoing the fish entirely to lay his head on top of the open palms instead.

Overpowered by this desire, he gave the fingers a lick, which had… an interesting effect on their own as Harry’s breath caught, losing his voice mid-sentence. Draco was reminded again, that this man hadn’t been completely immune to Draco’s power over him. And that emboldened him to eat more _messily_ than usual, just to be able lick off Harry's fingers without being too obvious about it.

It was at that moment when Draco was quite happy and full—possibly as a consequence of eating so hedonistically—that he let out an enormous belch, before he could stop himself. Seeing the other beginning to register with wide, about-to-be-affronted eyes, what he’d just done, Draco immediately covered his face and flung himself into the water out of sheer embarrassment.

For sirens, having someone hear them make such an undistinguished, gross noise from one’s mouth which was only meant to utter lovely sounds was an absolute mark of disgrace.

When he peeked back above the water a few seconds later, rather than revulsion, he found the other laughing uncontrollably, as he called for Draco between gasps.

“Draco! It’s okay! It’s okay!” And yet he wouldn’t stop laughing—doubled over—and sounding beautiful to Draco’s ears _._ “I don’t mind. It’s just a burp!”

It was hard to hold onto his embarrassment completely, when confronted with a resoundingly deep resonating laugh that made some forgotten pulse in Draco awaken. It took a moment for Draco to realize what it was. The urge to return a song _after being sung to_.

The kelp around his neck calmed the urge thankfully before it could make him even more humiliated by instinctually mistaking human laughter for an invitation to respond with song.

After several apologies for his laughter mixed with intermittent chuckles, Harry finally convinced Draco to come back out of the water to finish his meal. Draco did indeed eat but for once out of his own hands, as he obstinately kept his back to Harry for the rest of the time.

Once he’d finished the last of it, he saw Harry standup from the corner of his eye. He grabbed the bucket and fish bones around Draco. As he turned, Draco felt a gentle pat on his head, the most that Harry had touched him of his own accord, and he looked up at the human in his shock.

“I don’t mind it,” he said again, with the sort of affectionate, wider smile—than the smaller ones Draco had been familiar with directed to him at this point—that had Draco’s thoughts grinding to a halt.

The smile that was aimed at him was genuine, the same singularity he’d seen once before and yet different from the one that had answered Luna’s thanks for their freedom _._ The sole difference was that it was aimed at Draco this time, and somehow that made all the difference in the world.

Even though it shouldn’t matter that Harry had only repeated himself from earlier with the addition of touching him and smiling, the last of Draco’s shame died with their combined reassurance anyway.

And without planning to, Draco found himself smiling stupidly back at him.

Instead of being bothered by his own reaction, he was swept up by the ensuing elation that coursed through him at the soft recognition of the beginnings of an idea he’d overlooked until now… _friendship._

It wasn’t that hard to admit in that moment, being completely honest with himself, that Draco liked Harry. And that Harry probably liked Draco too. Though Luna could never be replaced, maybe even with her absence, Draco didn’t have to be alone after all.

______________

Having the one experience of being on the receiving end of Harry’s deliberate affection-filled gestures, Draco’s true potential for showing and demanding physical affection unleashed itself rather determinedly. Harry was hardly prepared for its onset.

Harry’s absolute bafflement where the man was typically more stoic only added to Draco’s enjoyment of his relentless physical engagement with Harry.

Put more mildly, Draco was being more _enthusiastic_ about his time spent with Harry involving greater physical contact. Harry seemed slightly startled by Draco’s new attitude and excessive preoccupation with having as much of himself in contact with Harry as possible.

But to be frank, Harry had to endure the abrupt change in Draco’s usual demeanor of condescending and sometimes dismissive amiableness abruptly becoming Draco gluing himself to Harry’s side and frenziedly seeking Harry’s attention. Harry’s continued astonishment at Draco’s new antics might have been comical or even pitiable if Draco hadn’t been more concerned with spending as much time as possible to think up new ways of getting pet by Harry.

Because there was no other word for it. Draco had experienced the wonders of Harry giving him physical affection and wasn’t about to give him any reason to stop. Maintaining any of his typically indifferent disposition—which hadn’t been useful to impress Harry anyway—was no longer worth it. Having Harry’s hands stroking his tail—a reward that was actually tangible and more satisfying than stroking his own ego—was priceless.

With every visit, Draco became bolder in demanding Harry’s absolute attention. Harry to his credit, after getting over his prolonged confusion, seemed to enjoy it, which only encouraged Draco.

Of the many things Draco tried with Harry—laying on top of him, demanding his back be scratched, putting his head on his lap, or putting Harry’s hand on top of his head directly if he was feeling particularly impatient—Draco’s favorite had to be Harry’s hand kneading the back of his neck right where the kelp collar sat. It was even a bit alarming to Draco himself how childish he became in Harry’s presence now. He hadn’t even acted this spoiled with Luna.

But this obsession with physical contact had as much to do with the fact that he enjoyed it as he _needed_ it in many ways. It seemed the most crucial moments he could use a reassuring touch was when Harry wasn’t there to offer it to him. Those instances mostly boiled down to his voice.

On bad days, the kelp around his neck could only do so much to give him the illusion of calm. It had been steadily losing its effectiveness now that his freed voice seemed intent on vocalizing random noises whenever he had a casual spike in emotion.

It was foreboding to have to relearn his mouth making simple sounds he’d taken for granted that now seemed so loud in what used to be silence: gasps, groans, moans, yawns, snorts, laughs, and all emotive noises in between. He only forgot to notice his voice working if he was too captured up in a really strong emotion, such as when he’d attacked the keepers who’d failed to feed him properly. But most daily emotions were weaker bursts of sound that drove him slowly mad. 

Realizing that his own voice working normally scared him almost broke him. The everyday sounds within himself that he’d been so used to being silenced were now much too loud and abrupt for his ears. It pained him how unnatural his own day to day voice had become to him. The too light weight of the kelp band that poorly substituted his old silver collar only worsened the sensation of wrongness. Draco had developed a habit of touching his own neck periodically and not relaxing until he’d circled it with his hand.

When his own hand was no longer doing the job, it had been the same whim that made him silently ask for Harry to put his hand on the back of his neck. Harry’s cooperation with this request was something Draco thanked him for, as much as he could without words. It was this kind of relief from worry Draco kept chasing, and Harry was the generous balm to erase his worries, if only temporarily. Draco was able to hold himself together just for those three visits a day.

This newfound excitement of being able to do with Harry what he used to with Luna, however, had the major caveat of reminding him of Luna often. It felt cheap almost, like Draco was possibly betraying her somehow… After seven years of friendship, he had made another friend who caused him to be as happy as easily. Draco wanted to be more concerned about it—to know what it meant about himself, but anytime that brilliant smile and green eyes were directed at him, he’d completely forget how to judge himself in the first place. That was of course, until it worsened whenever Harry would leave.

It was at the point that being with Harry reminded him of Luna instead of making him momentarily forget his separation from her. Almost immediately after Harry would leave him, he would take that blessed happiness with him. And Draco would be hit with a sense of loneliness and the abject trepidation, that just like Luna, Draco might never see him again.

It was irrational, he knew. And felt somewhat misplaced to miss someone who was still there while still having a friend with unknown whereabouts. But it didn’t stop him from panicking anytime Harry was delayed in his visits to Draco nor his endeavors in making Harry stay as long as possible. Harry had yet to complain.

Harry smiled down at him, where Draco had purposefully laid on top of Harry’s torso perpendicularly before the time he would leave. But it seemed the other had caught onto this tactic. He started gently heaving Draco off of him earlier than usual.

“You’re really attached, aren’t you?” Harry, who still hadn’t lifted Draco off him, turned his head to the side to smile over at him.

Draco shifted his weight more heavily across Harry’s stomach in lieu of an answer. He’d argue he wasn’t attached enough. Clearly, Harry could leave and peel Draco off his side at any time. Draco wished to be glued or that weird spell-o-tape Harry overused for many of his older things. Something to do with older objects having finnickier spells that the newer spells could risk overwriting, wizarding magic still struck him as odd.

“She was right,” Harry said thoughtfully, letting his head fall back and stare up at the sky. Draco glanced at him curiously.

“I was told you were that kind of person. But I didn’t believe her much since I’d already met you. And you didn’t come off as it.”

She and her could only mean Luna. Draco immediately perked up at that, startling Harry—who froze in confusion under Draco’s sudden undivided attention until a realization struck him.

“Oh right! How stupid of me. Your friend, er… Luna wasn’t it?” Harry shook his head at himself before facing Draco again.

“Don’t worry,” his eyes took on a more distant look. “She’s safe.” The end of his sentence wasn’t as celebratory given the subject, but perhaps it was just because it was old news to Harry and didn’t mean as much to him as it did Draco.

Draco smiled, moving off of Harry as Harry sat up. The worst of his fears that he wouldn’t see her again because she had died or worse were laid to rest. Now he only had to hear where she was living. But Harry wasn’t finished.

“She’s back with the fae now.”

Draco’s short-lived relief stopped dead in its tracks.

This was as good as telling Draco she’d never be coming back.

Even Draco, as a siren, knew that once one was taken by the fae, they _stayed_ taken. And the fae do not rescind their claim on those they’ve marked, let alone those that are their own flesh and blood. He wasn’t all that surprised and even understood why she would accept being taken to them. After all, those were her own people—family that she would prefer to return to, compared to Draco who had none.

_This is a good bye._

She had said it as if she knew. Because she had.

And because Luna had always been _somehow right_ with her predictions, Draco deep down had known then he wouldn’t be seeing her again. His faith in her words was why he’d been so adamant in not letting her go. So he shouldn’t be so affected by her promise being fulfilled. But having it confirmed—made real—that she couldn’t return didn’t make it hurt any less.

If it had been a true _good_ bye, in Draco’s eyes, he would have sang it to her. He would have sang a song _just_ for her…

He felt sadness rise and fall in rolling waves that never quite reach high enough to spill out his eyes, but they come close.

He must be quite the sorry sight. Because a familiar hand settled on his head, causing the tears to fall as the extra weight seemed to give that final push to squeeze the emotions out of him. Once he started, he couldn’t stop, and he didn’t want to.

Turning toward Harry, Draco pressed his face into the warm shirt and grounded himself, while grief overtook him. Actually stopping and allowing himself to feel everything he missed and would be missing: strange stories of beings that couldn’t exist—Bartlyles, Poltickeries, Hefelumps and Woozles; her predictions—from the most mundane to the most life-shattering which she would say in the same airy voice as anything else; her kind smiles and her even kinder eyes; the bloody plants she’d never stop sticking in her hair no matter how much they grew on her…

Shit, Draco would miss it _all_.

_You won’t need me, Draco. Promise._

Because she knew he would have someone else. _Harry._

Was Harry really that important that he’d never leave Draco?

It’s in that moment, Draco felt an unparalleled gratitude towards Harry, for being there with him as his friend—twice now while he cried, and for saving him even if it meant Luna had to be taken away. Deep down, he hadn’t wanted to stay there, and she had known that too. It had been the same for her. As much as they wished to keep together, staying there wouldn’t have been worth it.

And Harry had saved them both.

_Thank you._

Draco should have thanked him then too.

That long overdue gratitude came over him in full swing, finally understanding. The impulse to sing filled his lungs and to share this revelation to the world and honor the person who saved him and his best friend, Harry, who was also his friend now.

The appreciation that sung in his chest faltered in the middle of his neck, trapped and fluttering like a bird that forgot to fly mid leap. Draco was still not used to being able to freely use his voice after all. He wanted to pay him back. But with what else, Draco didn’t know.

Harry wrapped his arms tighter around Draco, who didn’t remember when they got there, but was even more thankful all the same. The song in his chest still sang even if it couldn’t escape his mouth. _You hold me together._ Someday it will make it out.

But for now, Draco pressed himself against Harry harder, his magic working itself up in his throat, until he felt the others magical core—right beneath Draco where Harry is holding him close—reach out to his own, just on the surface. Their small connection was the closest thing to peace Draco had ever felt.

After an hour or so longer keeping each other close, Harry made to move away but Draco wouldn’t let him.

“I have to go,” Harry whispered gently, sounding reluctant even as he did.

Draco raised his face to look at him and must have worn quite the expression, because the other relented and pulled Draco back against his chest.

“Alright, just a little longer.” His voice seemed deeper up close, and his hand on his back felt warm. As shameless as it made him, being held like that… Draco knew what he felt for Harry was somehow stronger than what he felt for Luna.

But when Harry had tried to pull away earlier, his magic had grown and burrowed its way into Draco’s lungs. The magic was comforting and lilting just like the hands carding in his hair. He felt that familiar rustling of his own magical core. But unlike before with a magical collar to keep his own at bay, it didn’t merely stop with being stirred. When the other’s magic touched his vocal center, his own reacted and _strongly._

The response was instant and brilliant. For once in his life, Draco felt whole and more _loved_ and _in love_ than he had in his entire life. That ball of stubborn worry always inside himself vanished entirely. He was in complete harmony and completely comforted. Harry must have felt something too by the way his body suddenly slumped against him.

It was then that Draco noticed an additional but not separate response taking place within himself, that he almost didn’t recognize at first. A heat that centered below his navel began slowly pulsating, sensitive to the rest of his body wherever it was in contact with Harry and his magic.

Before he could analyze it much further, Harry lightly but more insistently pushed at his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, but it’s time for me to go.” His hands were firm but gentle as he guided Draco off him. Draco was too stunned with his own body’s responses to the touch. As he the final piece came together why his reactions to Harry’s touches had always been more intense and robbing him of sense than Luna’s had been.

“I’ll see you again tomorrow, alright?”

Draco nodded, and Harry ruffled his hair again in passing.

Draco didn’t look up at Harry as he left, staring at the ground and then down where his answer awaited him.

With growing disbelief, he stared down at his slowly parting slit, that needed no arousal potions to have functioned in such a way. The combination of magic and physical contact had done strange things to Draco, in a way that was only supposed to happen to sirens in more intimate arrangements. The more he thought about it, the more it incentivized him to face the obvious—that Draco thought he’d never have with so few sirens left in the sea.

_Mate._

But this wasn’t the sea.

And Harry, a human, was his _mate_.

This changed everything.

Luna had told him in her own way, hadn’t she? There was another message to garner from Luna, a secondary one that Draco only knew to look for from knowing her. For as much as Luna would never return, Draco would also never need her again. And that meant he didn’t need Luna or anyone else to not be alone, because he’d always have Harry.

Because Harry was his _mated pair._

Amid his tears and joy, a mix of loss and laughter as he ripped off his kelp collar for good, and the sensation of his voice and his magic unlocking itself, Draco shook his head and finally said what he meant to say that day, singing lowly just a single note.

“ _Thanks and good bye, Luna._ ”

______________

Moments like these were where Luna was completely wrong on something. He did need Luna for immediate advice on something he knew nothing about.

_Courting humans._

Of all the trivia Luna taught him about humans and their hobbies or strange fixations, she never broached the topic about their mating practices, a decision which Draco regretted immeasurably now. Draco had no notion of how humans went about copulating, which left him to work with the only knowledge he had relative familiarity with, _siren_ customs.

His only plan of action was to use his siren ways. He could only hope it would be as or somewhat effective on humans. It remained to be seen whether Harry thought of him sexually at all—Harry wasn’t _terribly_ more difficult to read than other humans Draco had met, but he had his fair share of inscrutable moments. For the following days, Draco would have to challenge both himself to communicate and Harry to understand Draco’s courting intentions.

Today Draco would begin with the basics: food.

Harry gave him and his bare neck a considering look as he set Draco’s bucket of fish down and brought out a foldable chair.

“You’re awfully happy today,” Harry noted as he sat in the unfolded seat. If only Harry knew for what a glorious reason that was.

_Because we’re mates._

Draco so badly wished to tell him this revelation and that Draco had come to love him. And to ask if, as a human, Harry felt the same irresistible pull to the other? Could he feel their magic interacting too?

But he had no human voice to utter it, and Harry had no siren ears. So Draco smiled at him, as warmly as he did mutely, instead.

Harry smiled back, and that at least was a baseline of reciprocation Draco could start with.

Draco still hadn’t given up his mealtime ritual to eat out of Harry’s hands, which Harry always dutiful held for him. Though now, Harry had taken to cutting up the fish earlier and feeding it to Draco in bite sized portions, a change that Draco greatly approved.

Part of being one’s mate was to provide and offer food to the other. While Harry had checked that prerequisite off, Draco was the one that needed to prove himself and his hunting worth. Unfortunately, he had no means of food besides what Harry provided. Still, he made do.

Discreetly, Draco grabbed a fish himself, and then presented it to Harry to eat it in the same manner he did for Draco.

“Thanks, but I don’t eat raw fish like you do,” Harry said, gently pushing the fish and Draco’s cupped hands with it back toward Draco.

Draco frowned, but put it back in his mouth and began eating again.

As Harry peered at him curiously from above his magazine, Draco mulled over that he actually didn’t know what Harry ate as he had never done so in front of him. He wondered for the first time, why Harry never brought his own food in with him to join Draco in eating his meals. Perhaps, he wasn’t allowed. A strange thought but nothing else that he could think of made sense.

Whatever it was, Draco didn’t have access to it, his only resource being fish he could not even get himself.

Draco would have to make do with the second step of siren courting.

______________

The next day Draco waited for Harry right outside the door, startling him a bit.

“Hi, Draco,” Harry said, laughing incredulously. “Don’t you usually wait over there?” With both hands holding the pails’ handles, he indicated the water with his chin, but Draco’s eyes remained fixed on him.

Draco shrugged and waited for Harry come in the rest of the way

“Ok, well… hungry?” He lifted up the usual buckets.

Draco nodded, flashing his teeth as he did so. He was but, he would need the fish and their smell as far away as possible from Harry and himself for once.

The second item to siren courting was scent. Not just any kind of course, but that of your partner’s. The idea is being familiar with their scent will allow you to test your compatibility but also know the uniqueness of your body. It needs to stand out to you, that way you can find them easily across leagues of the ocean. Siren territories couldn’t be that large without sirens having a means of them finding and identifying each other through long distances.

Draco waited for Harry to set up the bucket, only to grab his wrist to gently stop his hand from reaching inside it and getting his scent contaminated.

“Are you doing alright today?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded, but Harry still checked up on him. He looked Draco over for signs of distress or injury, while Draco calmly waited for him to finish, enjoying the attention for what it was while it lasted. Finding nothing, obviously, he turned back around, likely to resume their business with the fish.

But again Draco stopped him, this time grabbing his legs and tapping the toes of his boots in place to keep him where he was. It took Harry a full minute to get the message Draco wanted him to lie down, and a few more seconds to decide whether he’d entertain the request or not. He decided to.

After laying on his back on the somewhat uncomfortable ground, Draco slid forward to join him and surreptitiously began sniffing his hair. It just seemed the most sniffable out of the rest of the pieces that made up his would-be mate. Smelling it up close, Draco could smell the cloying fragrance of flowers and spice but not much of Harry’s true scent. The skin by his ear and neck were an improvement, but not much. All the foul-smelling layers of fruity combinations drowned it out Harry’s naturally alluring scent no matter how strongly Draco inhaled.

Draco had to pull back and sneeze at a point, which had the benefit of inspiring Harry’s laughter--easing the tension in Harry’s body that Draco hadn’t noticed building when he’d buried his nose repeatedly in Harry’s hair. But Draco had little else to show for his actions. He was making no progress like this. Besides, Harry would have no way of smelling Draco properly either, surely nose-blinded by his own false fumes.

This wasn’t working. If he were to go about this right, rather than air, Draco ought to smell him in the water where his nose could really capture Harry’s smell.

And actually, why not? He had plenty of it. Right here.

What Harry needed was a bath and Draco would make Harry have a proper one, without luxurious human soaps that did nothing for humans’ aromas. No, he would treat Harry to only clean, pure water.

Moving from his side and finding a faintly bewildered expression staring up at him, Draco propped himself up and, grabbing one of Harry’s arms, dragged an incredulous Harry who followed him toward the water. Feeling Harry hesitate at the edge, Draco let go but continued forward and dove into the water, popping back up to watch Harry’s reaction.

Looking more uncertain than Draco had ever seen him before, Harry leveraged a calculating frown at Draco, no doubt trying to ascertain Draco’s intentions. Draco tried to appear like the picture of benevolence as he gestured for Harry to follow him in.

After a moment of internal deliberation, Harry took off his glasses and joined him in a splash. Draco dove under to greet him.

Seeing Harry in the water for the first time, briefly made Draco forget all his intentions to court him. His hair made a lovely inky halo that finally synchronized in the way they moved around his head. His green eyes seemed to shine even brighter underwater, or perhaps it was the lack of barrier from his absent glasses that was tricking Draco’s own eyes. And his scar was more visible with his hair constantly floating up. The way he swam upward to get a breath of fresh air was surprisingly graceful, something he’d never thought he’d say about human’s unnecessarily complicated way of swimming.

Water was truly made for tails, but he might make an exception for Harry, who looked so perfect to Draco then. Dangerously so. For a heart stopping moment, Draco had the impulse to keep him there, before remembering his human lungs needed air to breathe. And he kept his hands to himself watching Harry move gracefully to the surface.

Remembering what he’d got Harry in with him for, he swam towards Harry. And as he did so, truly smelled Harry for the first time. The water did its work, washing away any scents that weren’t Harry’s. And Draco was completely captivated by the time he’d made his way to Harry’s side.

There was no describing it, only that it was Draco’s favorite thing of everything he’d ever smelled before, the combination of musk and sweetness. It infused a powerful note of warmth around Harry that made Draco’s water even more breathable to him than before. His breath came faster even as he stilled lazily next to Harry who’s head still remained above the surface, marveling at the intoxication he had experienced just by Harry getting wet. Knowing what he had been missing, he wished to have thought of it before.

Had he done this with Harry earlier, Draco would have immediately identified him as his mate.

Draco swam in circles around Harry, unbridled with the need to _show himself_ off in his own territory, to share with Harry, his mate _,_ how great it was below the surface. This need to make an electrifying impression on Harry competed with Draco’s simultaneous craving to be as near to Harry’s scent as possible. The latter made it harder to even _think_ as it compelled him to draw himself closer and closer to Harry.

Following through with the latter compulsion, Draco nuzzled into Harry’s neck where it smelled strongest, only equaled by Harry’s groin. But Draco was sure it would be improper for him to scent him _there_ quite yet. At least for siren standards it was.

Harry ducked underwater to give him a strange look followed by a sudden salacious smirk Draco wasn’t prepared for.

“Aguamenti _.”_

Before Draco realized what was happening, Harry brandished his wand and suddenly propelled himself through the water and away from Draco, smiling from ear to ear. The realization that Harry was _moving_ and _fast,_ obligated Draco’s instincts to give chase. All thoughts of scenting Harry to fulfill courtship were forgotten amidst the diversion of _fun_.

And so their game began, Draco pursuing Harry around the tank who dove in and out from the surface to catch air, grinning as if he believed he could never be caught. But Draco was clever and could use magic too. And for a siren, water was _his domain_.

Draco used his voice to make it sound like he was behind him when he was actually hiding behind a bit of coral, startling Harry when he tackled him, but he immediately let go of him again to start fleeing Harry himself. This was what it must have felt like to be a snitch chased by Harry, exhilarating.

As much as he swam away, just out of Harry’s reach, Draco kept glancing behind him to see Harry’s green eyes pinpoint their focus only on Draco, and him alone, with the determination that would not be refused. Without thinking it, Draco let himself be caught several times. Because more and more as he played with Harry, becoming Harry’s victory felt like a victory of his own too.

The roaring excitement of being in the water with Harry for the first time, smelling him so intensely, and _playing_ together was not lost on Draco. The combination of the heady aroma and glee was steadily getting to his head as he chased Harry and Harry chased him round and round, endlessly till he was sure he’d reach a delirium of joy he could not return from.

_We should be mated._

In the middle of outswimming Harry’s passionate pursuit, all the energy seemed to culminate into a point within himself that burst in on itself, flooding his body with a painful sensation of unbearable heat. His body froze, forcing Draco to stop engaging in their play, hands clasping at the spot where it seemed to have lit itself on fire.

Harry noticed this, and after taking a needed gulp of air, made his way towards him, probably wondering at Draco’s sudden pause in participating. But even if Draco could verbally explain, he didn’t think he would. He felt over-sensitive and not sensitive _enough_ at the same time, nerves both raw and numbed into a nonsensical jumble.

Harry’s voice carried a questioning tone but Draco didn’t completely hear the words, too far gone to translate human speech at the moment.

He felt cooler hands place themselves on him that made his body shudder, as he was pulled toward the surface with Harry, where he’d otherwise sink like a rock to the bottom. Taking him to the edge of the tank where they could cling to the rim of the sides, Harry asked him, worry written all over his face.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Draco made a sound of pain, and unable to obscure it from Harry—feeling no need to hide himself from his mate—he lifted his hands.

His gaping slit and member that stood at full mast were freely exposed for Harry to see. Just Harry looking seemed to make it worse, and it jerked under Harry’s attention.

Harry didn’t breathe for a moment, and then the next he was red-faced and apologizing a mile a minute, looking incredibly alarmed. Of what, Draco couldn’t fathom.

“It’s rut, your rut has been triggered. Shit,” Harry seemed frantic and confused, rather than happy like Draco had hoped. Draco was puzzled by this. Shouldn’t Harry as his mate be more interested or happy for Draco to so obviously want him.

And what was a _rut_ supposed to be?

As Harry took on all of Draco’s weight, Harry’s scent pressed directly against his nose. It only seemed to sap at Draco’s consciousness even faster. He just wanted to remain there forever, warm and held. Harry really was too potent for him in water for Draco to lose control like this. Draco should be scared but he was still just deliriously happy. It all felt right, because his mate was with him now.

Shutting his eyes as he was carried by Harry through the doors that Draco always wanted to see past, he couldn’t muster the energy to do so now. After hearing Harry’s voice shouting for help, Draco didn’t remember much after that.


	3. The Song of Our Names

When Draco came to, he was floating weightlessly.

Above him, the ceiling was decorated with lifelike paintings of clouds that slowly moved in a soft breeze. If he stared too long, he began to feel the breeze himself. Looking around, he found himself suspended and floating on the surface of a tank, filled with unnaturally still, water laced with magic.

Turning, he spotted the rest of the room had similar tanks of various sizes, some larger than his own. But none were occupied that he saw. At the end of the room closest to Draco, there were two large cream-colored doors that remained shut.

Straining his ears he was able to pick up the noises of people walking by his door, but the footsteps passed it. There was no sign of Harry and anyone else, except the remainder of Harry’s scent in a chair pulled out next to him. Proof that Harry had been there some time ago.

Letting himself sink back into the incredibly warm and comfortable water, he reviewed the events of what led him here. He’d finally revealed the physical consequences of his interest in his mate, but the other had reacted like Draco was experiencing a sickness. Harry treated Draco less like a mate in desperate need of reciprocation and more like a _dying_ man.

Draco couldn’t completely blame Harry for his reaction. The abruptness must have distressed his mate. Having been completely floored by it himself, Draco understood it might have looked worse than it was. But Draco had never experienced the fallout of having performed what, in retrospect, had the markings of two of the last three steps of siren courtship: a mating chase and elements of the mating dance—immediately after he’d attempted to scent Harry, another step.

It’s no wonder Draco had been hit so hard so abruptly.

 _And yet,_ they had merely been entertaining themselves in that moment. Their behavior hadn’t been intended for that, but it didn’t change what their actions imitated.

Draco knew, if it had been anyone else not his mate, he wouldn’t have responded this way.

Just like the sirens' courtships of old, they practically revolved around each other, chasing back and forth. Looking back, Draco should have been more careful in his excitement to be with Harry.

It wasn’t a ‘rut’ or whatever strange human notion Harry had given it, unless that meant: perfectly natural reaction to the presence of your mate and their courtship. The ‘heatwave’ was a consequence of sirens discovering their mate. Draco just hadn’t expected to present with it so soon. Perhaps without realizing it, he’d mistakenly thought there’d be a lesser reaction within himself to a human mate. Evidenced by Harry’s huge effect on Draco, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Engaging in playful chases which border-lined a true siren mating run had been playing with fire. Of course, Draco hadn’t considered the ramifications of it. He’d been too set on competing with Harry and the pleasure of racing with him. And somehow their alternating the roles of “chaser” and “chased”—while siren pairs traditionally stuck to one role—seemed different enough to his mind to not immediately correlate their behaviours with siren couplings.

But the matter of how stressed Harry had been couldn’t be ignored. Draco’s _situation_ would have been alleviated easily enough with some mating action. But, Draco worryingly could not recall any interest or satisfaction on Harry’s part when Draco clearly revealed the human’s significance to him. Without direct communication, Draco isn’t sure how he could put it more plainly.

Draco frowned. What had Harry thought when seeing him aching for him then? Draco’s response had been one for his mate, but Harry’s… hadn’t. For the first time, Draco thought Harry might not find him mate worthy after all.

And what did that mean for Luna’s promise? He hadn’t even considered that Harry might not be the answer. Had he interpreted it wrongly?

As he fret over this, Draco heard voices again that came up to the doors and entered.

Harry and a stranger, a woman with long bushy hair wearing one of those white uniforms, came into the room, speaking animatedly to each other.

“Can’t you figure out what’s wrong with him? Why won't his rut go away?” Harry pressed.

“I told you, Harry. There’s nothing conclusive, yet. The tests we’ve run show he’s in perfect health, otherwise.” She sighed, as if having to recite it for the twentieth time. “He should be returning to normal soon.”

“That’s what you said a week ago. It’s been _nine_ days, Hermione. How can this be normal?”

Draco blinked in shock. Draco had heard how heatwaves, especially firsts, could knock siren’s out, but those were especially rare—and only if the mating bond was especially strong. But Harry, as a human, must experience it quite differently.

The woman named Hermione sighed. “Harry, I know how concerned you are for Draco.” Her voice softened, but her tone stayed firm. “But I can’t skip procedure, even for you, nor give you more answers on a developing case than I already have.”

Harry bit his lip but stopped arguing. His lips looked like they’d been bitten a lot lately, Draco noted distantly. His mate’s presence was more magnetic than he remembered, and he felt a prickle of heat at the back of his neck which the water around him immediately cooled.

“Sorry, Hermione… it’s just-” Harry’s eyes finally settled on Draco suspended in the water and widened in surprise. “You’re awake!”

Harry rushed over to him, while Hermione trailed after him at a more comfortable pace, looking at Harry thoughtfully. Draco’s tail thudded against the side of the tank in his eagerness to see Harry as well. And to finally meet one of Harry’s best friends, albeit under the circumstances Draco was having trouble focusing on her.

“He seems lucid.” Hermione noted, making a note on the clipboard.

“That’s a good thing, right?” Harry asked without turning away from Draco. He smiled brilliantly, and Draco wanted those teeth to bite him, or just knock against his own. His tail twitched feebly. He was distracted by the momentary strangeness of how preoccupied he was with Harry’s _everything,_ by Hermione addressing him.

“Do you know why you’re here, Draco?”

Draco, blinking, nodded at her.

She nodded back. “Good. But just in case, I’ll give you a brief summary of what we know of what’s going on with you. You’ve experienced an intense first rut, where you were coming in and out of consciousness for the last nine days. Do you remember any of this?”

To him yesterday had been when Harry was panicking about Draco’s mating response. Draco shook his head.

She pursed her lips. Draco took that to mean his response wasn’t necessarily good.

“We’re trying to figure out what’s instigating it and how to help you get out of this state.”

At that, Draco stared incredulously at her, burying the urge to laugh. Then they were misunderstanding entirely, and he would be miserably stuck here experiencing an eternal heatwave while the answer was right next to him, stroking his hair. All his ‘state’ needed was Harry’s reciprocation of Draco’s mating song and they could both continue on happily as a mated pair. Can’t they put two and two together? Was their information on siren’s copulation so _awful_? Or whatever human equivalent of heatwaves must be, was it something meant to be repressed and ignored? Self-consciously, his hand covered his bare throat as if to protect it.

Draco found this and the human’s likely very different understanding and experience around mating disconcerting. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, given that if Harry, _his mate,_ hadn’t noticed; then he didn’t have much hope that the other humans would be able to discern the true cause either. Draco just wanted his mate to understand what _he meant to_ him. He felt another poke of heat at his lungs, and bit back the sound of pain that wanted to escape.

Draco reached for Harry, who put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He felt moving his limbs came a little harder to him, but didn’t mind it. He was more content with Harry’s hands on his skin again.

Harry and Hermione began discussing him again, but Draco couldn’t heed them any with Harry being so near, but not near enough.

Despite Draco’s even breathing, his feverishness was increasing. He felt the dizziness begin to wash over. The only thing able to relieve the pain was also the one increasing its demand. Draco needed Harry _closer._ Weakly, he lifted his arms up at Harry, to pull him toward him.

Hermione frowned as she glanced at him.

“I think we have a problem,” Hermione said evenly.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Harry immediately stood up, concerned. This action moved him further away from Draco, who lamented the distance instantly. 

Draco reached for him, almost beseechingly, as the heat worsened. Harry noticed, and stood next to him again as Draco clung to his front, breathing more and more laboured by each second.

“His temperature is elevating dangerously again.” Her words seemed to summon the worst of it, as Draco felt another sharp stab of pain. Draco grabbed Harry by the shirt and pressed himself to him even closer, desperately looking up at him, while he still had a mind to convey what he needed.

But when Harry’s green eyes met his, Draco could only moan softly, helpless to communicate anything as he was swept up by mating heat.

“I’m going to need help.” Her wand pointed suddenly and a silvery creature Draco had never seen before came out the end. “Madame Pomphrey, the patient is relapsing into fever.” The animal disappeared and then she turned her attention back on them.

“Clear the room. I’ll let you know how he is, once we’ve got past the worst of it.” Harry hesitated but made his way to leave, gently pulling Draco’s hand away, who despite his weakening limbs, held onto him as much as he could.

Harry began to leave, making his way to the door.

_No._

The last thing he needed was for Harry to leave him.

Draco couldn’t have Harry separated from him again.

Desperate, Draco sang for him, long and lilting and everything he wanted to say but couldn’t.

 _~Stay~,_ he begged, startling both humans in the room. But most importantly it stopped Harry just in front of the door.

Harry turned toward him.

 _~Please~_ Draco put all of his desperation into the note for his mate.

And then, for the first time, he called his mate by name in song.

_~Harry~_

Singing Harry’s name aloud in siren tongue seemed to have a profound effect on his mate. For Draco as well, hearing its syllables even from his own mouth seemed to worsen his condition.

But it was worth it, as Harry took a step towards him.

“Harry,” Hermione’s voice cut through all other noise.

Harry stopped, looking caught between their orders.

“ _Leave._ ”

Despite his obvious concern for Draco, Harry listened.

Before Draco could summon the last of his energy to request the opposite, Harry was leaving. 

The last glimpse of the upset and broken look on his mate’s face had Draco falling into the silence. His wish that he could be there for his mate as much as the other could be there for him went unfulfilled. As more white uniforms appeared into the room, the heat consumed him.

______________

When he woke up next, it was to the hushed voices speaking around him. They came in and out of focus like the tide. His eyes weren’t able to see anything though he was sure they were open.

“…consequences of arousal potions...”

“…without a consistent sexual outlet like he had previously… it could have contributed to or offset his rutting not being able to end appropriately.”

“So his body is likely undergoing detoxification-”

“But he’s been off it for two months,” a voice that sounded like Hermione’s interceded.

“Why react _now?_ ” She pushed.

The debate that followed between the people beside him flew away into the abyss of more heat.

An unknown amount of time passed before their voices reappeared, this time with indistinct colors swimming over Draco’s vision. A blob of white hovered over his face, with two more blue blobs that might have been eyes.

“His core temperature is back to 36 Degrees Celsius,” a plain voice said, followed by multiple sounds of relief.

“But we’re not out of the woods yet. We’ll have to keep monitoring him.”

Draco fell asleep again, much cooler.

______________

When he woke up, fully for once, he was surprised to see a familiar face he’d thrown fish at sitting next to him. It was the same red-haired man who had first meant to be Draco’s keeper and the start of a series of repeated rejections until Harry.

From his lenient pose, the man sitting on the chair next to him and reading a book didn’t seem to hold any grudges for the thrown fish. If anything, when he saw Draco was up, he smiled warmly, just as he had the first day Draco met him. Draco almost believed he’d confused him with someone else—there were many people at the center with red hair—until he spoke.

“Hello, hot head. Remember me?” He grinned without an ounce of resentment.

More startling, Draco got the impression the man _liked_ him.

“Name’s Charlie.” He stuck out his hand toward Draco, who shook it back after taking a moment to remember seeing Slughorn shake people’s hands like that before. Otherwise, he’d have just stared stupidly at it.

That said, Draco still stared at him, wondering about his purpose here.

“Sorry about the meal mishap, mate.” Charlie reclined deeper in the chair, setting the book on his knee. “Didn’t think you’d mind some fish in the water, given that’s how they’re typically eaten by your lot in the wild.”

Draco appreciated a belated apology over none. In no mood or state to give anyone else grief, he merely nodded his understanding, which earned him another smile from the redhead. He seemed to be a person, like Luna, whose regular expression was a smile and who enjoyed talking. It’s a good thing Harry wasn’t like that, or Draco would be distracted by his smile and voice all the time. Thinking of Harry made him nervous and his body clench for some reason, so Draco focused back on the redhead in front of him.

“Well, I’ve got to give it to you. First time in a while I’ve gotten startled by a creature like that.” His muscled arms spread themselves to stretch behind his neck. “Gave my heart a fright, you did. And a good story too.” He leaned forward, whispering a bit conspiratorially. “Surviving a siren’s fish attack is practically a medal of honor around here, you know?”

Draco knew he was being teased in part. But thinking about all the keepers that attempted to best him, he had to agree. They had been alarmingly adamant about it. If being smacked with fish was an enjoyable human pastime, Draco had been bored enough to happily use them as target practice.

“But the honor of earning your favour however is all _Otter’s_.”

At Draco’s confused look, he clarified. “Oh right, you might not have heard. Harry _Potter_. I call him Otter, fits since his heart belongs to the sea and all its creatures. He must be one of them.” He smirked. “Clever, isn’t it?”

Hearing the rest of his mate’s name—and a new nickname to boot—had Draco smiling back.

“I had bets on the twins, just to see what they’d come up with. But Harry got to you first.”

Draco had the gut feeling he didn’t want to meet these twins, despite Charlie’s eyes softening at mentioning them. He reached down and grabbed something in a wrapper which smelled like food—which had Draco’s shoulders instinctually rising defensively—but it turned out to be for himself and not Draco as he unwrapped and bit into something crunchy that smelled but looked nothing like fish.

Noticing Draco’s relaxing, he laughed.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to feed you, not when you’re conscious anyway. No, I’m just here to monitor you.”

For the first time, Draco considered how sated his stomach felt… given how long he’d been out. As he scrutinized his own belly for signs of being underfed, he didn’t remember eating or receiving any fish. Slightly alarmed, Draco leveled him a suspicious look, which the other correctly understood.

“Sorry,” He rubbed the back of his head, but Draco didn’t buy he was guilty for a second, not when he still had that smile on. “Nutritional potions as part of your medicine had to be given to you. I didn’t throw it into the water for you to drink if that’s what you’re nervous for. Just from a bottle. That’s what you like at any rate,” He smirked.

“Being hand-fed I mean.” His indecent wink had Draco dropping his gaze, face heating.

Draco wasn’t embarrassed, exactly. But if he didn’t know any better, this man had a better sense of courting behavior than his Harry did, though Draco didn’t mind.

Draco passed the time in Charlie’s company listening to the man talk about everything from the weather to his many brothers and one sister—and how Draco ought to meet them--until the other’s shift watching him was over, and Draco was left alone but happy at their interaction ending without any hostility.

______________

Draco couldn’t go completely back to normal until he was mated. Why was that so hard to understand? But telling that to these humans proved an impossible task.

A group of seven people talked in a circle next to him, with Hermione and Harry butting heads. Draco was beginning to think he was a major point of contention between them. Charlie, who was surprisingly the least vocal amongst them, seemed to silently contemplate everything being said. The other faces Draco had seen before but he had no names to give them.

“We don’t know how long Draco will stay out of rut. Rut is meant to be a natural experience for sirens.” Hermione said slowly. “We’ll just have to keep that in mind about our plans to release him, _if_ we can.”

“So you’re saying it’s permanently just coming and going? So hot that his brain melts?” Harry asked, sounding frustrated. “How’s any of that natural?”

“I’m not saying his expression of rut is natural for sirens, Harry. But it is something they’re supposed to experience to a lesser intensity.” She seemed to hesitate to say the rest, as if Harry might take it poorly. “This might not be something we can cure, if for example—it’s a biological or sexual dysfunction-”

“Then why are we bothering with talking if we can’t even help him,” Harry said, impatiently.

Hermione’s eyes remained unaffected as if she was used to this Harry, looking like he was at the end of his rope.

“We can do our best anyway,” she said calmly.

Harry’s shoulders fell at that.

“Well, why don’t we go over what we know?” A woman whose hair he could have sworn was blonde a moment ago, but pink now, interjected into the quiet of the room.

Hermione cleared her throat and looked over a page in front of her. “It’s well known that Sirens experience seasonal rut once every seven years. After four days of this, they will settle with or without a mating encounter, and resume as normal. During this time, their body temperatures rise to a high degree but it doesn’t affect their functioning, except in rare cases. Their magical cores also increase in activity, which is theorized as the main cause behind the heat increase they experience. We don’t know enough about the mechanism within sirens that’s meant to cool down after a rut. Whatever it is, in Draco we can assume it’s malfunctioned in some way and isn’t working properly to reorient himself and his rut fully.”

In all that information, Draco didn’t once catch a mention of _mate._ No wonder humans hadn’t even thought of it. Perhaps they didn’t even know such a thing _existed,_ or not in such a way as it meant to sirens.

“Or it’s not a problem with him, and something keeps triggering it,” Harry pushed.

“Or that possibility,” Hermione admitted, a little snippily. “But we’ve ruled out all variables it could be: his diet, water in his tank, a magical malady, and screened for any of the Arousal Ambrosia Slughorn had been regularly giving him.”

Draco watched Harry’s jaw and fists clench at this. He wished he could tell him how truly simple it was to solve.

“But it’s not there, Harry. It can’t be the cause of this, it’s completely out of his system. And if he were to experience withdrawal, he would have already by now.”

“Then what else could it be?”

 _You._ Draco thought earnestly as he leaned his chin on the side of the tank to watch Harry. _It’s always been you._

Draco knew how much happier Harry would be if he knew he was the one that caused it, but also the one who could _fix_ it. His body trembled a little as Draco shut his eyes. He couldn’t look directly at Harry too long, or the heatwave might come back again. He didn’t know if just seeing Harry was enough, but he wouldn’t chance it. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Charlie looking his way, lost in thought.

“Once you rule out the external factors—which all past siren research never mentions as a possibility because it is a _seasonal_ occurrence—the only thing left is it could be something wrong internally.”

“Which we can do nothing about with so little that we know of siren’s biology,” Harry bit out.

To Draco, it sounded like the same segment of conversation they’d had a minute ago, and they’d returned back to square one.

“If that’s the case,” Charlie finally spoke up, “Maybe what we do know isn’t all that accurate.”

All faces turned their attention toward him, Hermione with disbelief, and Harry, with something like hope that matched Draco’s own.

It’s like you said, we know so little of siren’s biology and habits. As they are severely understudied, how do we even know what we do have is right?” He patted the book in his hand, that Draco had seen him reading earlier.

“Last I checked, the _books_ said sirens only ate their meals in water. It didn’t say anything about sirens liking to be hand fed or being perfectly fine with eating on a dry surface.” He nodded pointedly to Draco.

“Let’s ditch everything we think we know about sirens and ruts, just think for ourselves for a change. And let’s go with Otter’s trigger theory for a second,” Charlie said.

“Obviously, it can’t be the potions. Sorry Otter, the timeline for their exiting his system and the onset of his condition just doesn’t work for that. And we’ve checked everything else… every presence of a known pheromone that could make him hot and bothered… except _one_ thing.”

“If it’s triggered, then what’s the one commonality in all events where it’s worsened besides Draco himself?” Charlie asked.

He answered his own question. “Another _person_.”

“He’s responding to someone here, because just like us, he can have the _hots_ for somebody—literally in his case.” Everyone stared at Charlie like he’d grown a second head, while Draco wanted to celebrate and hug the man. He barely restrained himself from doing so.

“Just think about it, when did it start? When he was alone? No. Who was with him? And who was at his side when it was taking forever to cool down and nothing was working to alleviate his heat that he didn’t recover from until they left… Only to relapse after receiving another visit?”

“There is a trigger alright, Harry.” And then Charlie pointed at him. “But I think it’s _you._ ”

“You’ve got a pretty fish head over tails in love with you.” Charlie grinned cheekily.

“ _Cheers_ , mate.”

Harry didn’t look cheered at all.

As Harry stared at Draco, there was no happy revelation on his face. There was no joy or at least, the flattered reception that Draco had expected.

Draco watched, with growing hurt and confusion, as Harry turned away from him. He was quiet and withdrawn, as if he’d just been told some grave news. He turned to Hermione, who regarded him with surprise and concern.

“What are my options?” Harry asked, lowly, looking defeated.

Hermione glanced at Draco, who watched them both earnestly.

“Let’s get some fresh air.”

She gently guided Harry away from him. Which Draco vocally protested. But as usual, _no one_ listened to him.

______________

For the rest of his stay in that room while he recovered, Draco stopped seeing Harry after that. And Draco’s heatwave did not return after a week. He was let out with a clean bill of health and transported back to his usual tank.

But Harry wasn’t there to greet them, nor feed him when his first mealtime came. Charlie was the one to greet him instead, to Draco’s confusion.

Draco made a questioning noise at Charlie from where he had waited by the door for Harry to arrive.

“Sorry, buddy,” Charlie said, looking guilty. “It’s just me, today.”

He offered the fish in his hand, the same way Harry used to. Draco stared at it but didn’t take it. The disappointment ate up his appetite. He shook his head and slipped back into the water, where he sunk to the bottom. They had to know already that the only one Draco wanted as his keeper was Harry. So why were they changing things?

Charlie soon left, taking the bucket of fish, correctly guessing Draco wouldn’t touch it even if he left it for him.

But Charlie returned again for the next meal, which Draco received the same, refusing it all together. And Charlie didn’t push him to, merely giving him a sad smile and leaving again.

And again, for the third and last meal of the day. Only Charlie came. And Harry did not.

It was difficult to realize that Harry wasn’t coming _at all_ that day.

That night, Draco hardly slept. The only thing that eventually let him shut his eyes for good was the idea there was going to be Harry _tomorrow._

But the last of Draco’s hopes were cruelly dashed by Charlie once again being where Harry should be to give him his morning meal the next day. Draco didn’t even bother looking at him as soon as he recognized who it was, and who it _wasn’t._ He descended back into his water, meal untouched.

Draco didn’t need to be told. He understood then, Harry wasn’t going to be feeding him anymore. But Draco couldn’t let that happen without his displeasure being _voiced_.

So he kept not eating, each time Charlie arrived, because it had made Harry come the last time, for three whole days, and even when Charlie warned him it wouldn’t work by the fourth day.

“Otter can’t come anymore,” Charlie said gently. “Even if you do this.”

 _Why not?_ Draco wanted to ask.

_He’s my mate._

_He belongs with me and I, with him._

“I’m sorry.” Charlie looked upset.

This news didn’t change anything. Draco still didn’t eat any of his meals, even if he knew he was hurting himself going without food for so long. And he’d make it known until whoever observed him couldn’t ignore it.

He didn’t want food, he needed Harry more _._

And he promised himself, no matter how long it took, he would never eat again until he saw him. And he kept that promise for six more days.

______________

And then he saw Harry, but not where he was supposed to be, but on the other side of the glass of his tank, where the people in white uniform liked to observe him from. He was alone.

Draco, weakened from periods of not eating, still made his way over as quickly as he could once he noticed him, overjoyed after not having seen him in so long.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Harry muttered, but stared at Draco who smiled at him so happily. Draco was just glad to be able to see him, and hear him, though fainter through the glass wall.

Draco pressed himself against the glass as if it would bring Harry closer.

Harry put his hand up against it as well, smiling, but then faltered, pulling it away.

“I make you sick.”

No. _You can make it better_.

“You have to eat Draco.” His eyes filled with pain that mirrored Draco’s own.

“I can’t be your mate,” Harry said, voice faltering and eyes watering. “I’m not a siren.”

Draco’s confusion mounted as his mind reeled. Harry’s being human had never mattered to Draco’s consideration of him as a mate, except figuring out how to navigate human mating differences. And so Draco never thought about if it would be an issue for Harry. And now he was learning it _was_.

Were Harry’s standards that his mate had to be human, but it was fine to have a siren for a friend? And now, that he knew Draco wanted him as a mate, _not even that?_

“I’m _sorry_.” Draco’s attention was brought back to Harry’s apology.

And just like that, Harry left him without even a goodbye.

For a long moment, Draco stared after him.

Then he turned away, swimming to the center and bottom of his tank, and sat there, staring off into nothing.

_I can’t be your mate._

Draco curled up and wished to disappear.

______________

He didn’t know how long he sat there for, with the dangerous feeling that nothing mattered anymore. He’d lost Luna, but then he’d had Harry. But apparently, Luna had been wrong… because Harry was leaving him too. He was being abandoned and _willfully_ by someone that mattered to him. The one person that mattered to him the _most._ Someone he was meant to have the deepest magical and emotional bond with. His only mate.

And they had turned away from him.

_I’m sorry._

Draco was too, that his mate could not want him, could not love him as much as Draco did him, and would not keep Draco. The loss felt like when Luna left him, only _worse,_ and _all_ he could feel _._ Because the other had decided to and because it had been his mate.

But there was one other difference, this time, he could voice his grief. Draco could say goodbye to Harry.

Draco started singing. The more he sang the stronger he felt, even with no food in his belly.

All night he sang, and into morning, non-stop, with no audience. No humans or even Charlie appeared. As if his song had made everyone else but himself in the world vanish. It suited him.

He sang his grief and longing until they had turned into the same melody. And eventually, the song merely became Harry’s name in siren tongue, said over and over, the sweetest melody that Draco could sing to himself to pass his remaining days. A song of _comfort._

Over and over again, Draco sang Harry’s name, letting it wash over him, console him. If a name was all he could have of Harry, he could still say and hear it, and everything of Harry it represented.

Further into the morning, as he lay on the floor outside his tank, still singing—wanting to never stop, the door opened with a bang.

And like he was dreaming; Draco saw Harry come through it, hair disheveled and green eyes rimmed with red. Even then he did not stop, sure he would wake if the song ended—not even when Harry spoke. 

“When you sing, it’s impossible…” Harry sounded close to tears, voice shaking, wide green eyes dark and glued to Draco.

Harry’s strangled confession pushed past his erratic breathing, “If you call for me, I can’t…”

He suddenly shouted in frustration, “I CAN’T-”

Like a man possessed, he rounded on Draco, the last of his sentence dying on his lips as he smashed them against Draco’s, “- _STOP MYSELF_ ,” which swallowed them. And Draco pressed his song into Harry’s lungs, only strengthened with Harry’s presence against his mouth.

Harry’s voice hitched continuously as he slammed the rest of himself against Draco, as if he wished to sing back as well, but could only manage repeating Draco’s name over and over. The mating need grew and grew in Draco, and Draco embraced it and Harry with all his magic and being.

“Draco,” his voice was strained, and he fervently pressed himself against Draco, and held him so close, and Draco felt the beginnings of the heatwave returning, more dangerous he knew with his lack of nutrition. But he didn’t care, not while Harry finally _held_ him.

“ _Draco_.”

And that was okay, Draco thought. It is as it should be.

_I can never control myself around you either._

“I want to control myself,” He felt Harry’s tears against his neck, even as Harry pressed against him, his heat and groin pressed to Draco, unmistakable in Harry’s own need to take him. His voice was so immeasurably sad and _cracked,_ like he was in pain _._ “Please, I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

And _that_ and Harry’s voice broke into Draco’s thoughts, into his song.

Draco stopped singing, even as all his instincts screamed against it: to suffocate his mate in their need to have him. He ignored the desperate compulsion to be as provocative to his mate as possible to get what he wanted from them, to let his mate _breathe_.

Harry immediately sagged against him, still not letting go.

Harry lifted up his head to look at him. Anxiety and desire warred in his gaze. 

“Mating a human won’t fulfill you,” Harry whispered. “It won’t work with me. You’ll just suffer.”

His head fell back to Draco’s chest. “I can’t be what you need.”

He talked as if from experience, as if he had seen exactly that before. A human and some other creature that _failed._

A tragedy.

But whatever it was, _it didn’t have to be them._

Draco opened his mouth to sing again, but without any magical power to enthrall behind it—to _speak_ , even if Harry didn’t know the words. 

He lifted Harry’s chin back up to look at him. 

_~Please~_

Gently, softly. He spoke, staring into Harry’s eyes. And wishing so much to convey how much Harry couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ be hurting him, but saving him all over again.

_~Please, trust me~_

He offered himself, his body, and his song to Harry to mate him or not. He would make it a request because that’s what his mate deserved. A _choice,_ even if it wasn’t the one Draco wanted. Even if a final rejection, would break him.

~ _if you would take me, I want to give myself to you_ ~

Tears fell out of Draco’s eyes, as he felt the heat within himself blossom and he opened himself up to Harry ending or beginning him. He pressed a kiss to Harry and then let his head fall back with his last wish, an appeal and invitation, _but not a command_.

~ _Take me~_

And then he pulled back, waiting for Harry’s answer.

Harry’s green eyes that captivated Draco the moment he saw them, stared into his own tearful ones. And Draco swallowed, praying that Harry could see in Draco’s eyes what he couldn’t hear in his voice.

Harry’s mouth opened.

_“Yes.”_

Draco knew no more of the world beyond the two of them as Harry pressed him on the ground by the water. Their magical cores intertwined, his song making promises as Harry fulfilled them.

_His flesh was but a cloth for Harry to wear or tear._

_His song could be nothing but air for Harry to suck in._

_His tail and its silver scales were made for Harry to rake and plunder with his legs and feet and tongue._

_His body knew how to be a bow for Harry to bend and sling and break._

_His heart would beat loud for as long as Harry needed to feel it._

At the peak of his heat, he had one instance of perfect clarity as Harry sank home into his entrance and their mating’s physical bond was finally completed. He realized, with complete wonder, Harry was humming back Draco’s name into his ears. 

Musical and lovely... but not _quite right_. 

Forgoing the human interpretation of the sound of his name that Luna had given him, in that moment Draco told his mate his real name.

The melody slipped gently out his lips as he pressed Harry’s hand to his chest. ‘Me’ he mouthed after. Then he said it again, and Harry repeated after him, eyes wide in wonder.

Draco pressed his hand to Harry’s chest and recited Harry’s name in siren, the same melody that he’d sung all night and morning. He watched the understanding rush into Harry’s eyes. 

And soon they were humming each other’s names in perfect harmony as they sank back together in oblivion, spent and content. Draco’s song lulled, but did not fall silent.

Finally, the two were _one and pacified._

______________

The uproar in response to their mating, Draco considered highly exaggerated. Their being mates should be the only explanation needed.

Unfortunately, it did not seem everyone agreed with such simple answers.

Hermione talked Harry’s ear off, as a very not-rutting Draco enjoyed fish after fish from Harry’s fingers without a care in the world.

“You blew it, Harry,” she said sternly. “Completely, out the water—out of _reality._ ” It was the most passionate Draco had ever witnessed Harry’s friend.

Draco snickered at Harry’s slightly put upon expression. His laugh jarred Harry’s other hand (not feeding him bites of fish) that rested against his back, which gave him a brief squeeze.

“Of all the irresponsible things you’ve done, this has to top it. Because of this incident, we’re going to have a review. Not just from the HR department— _Dumbledore_ is involved. And they’re all wanting to hear why an employee slept with a creature in his care.” She fretted, seeming as if she was imagining they were in their very presence right now, even as she leveled Harry with an imploring stare at his lack of concern. “ _Dumbledore_ , Harry.”

“Just tell him and the rest of them the truth,” Harry answered, completely relaxed as he moved his hand from Draco’s back to hold Draco’s hand instead. “That we’re together.”

“ _You_ can tell that to the papers.” Hermione sighed, trying to remain exasperated, but a smile still graced the corners of her mouth. She obviously approved of her friend’s happiness, despite the current inconveniences it had caused.

Her eyebrows furrowed a bit disappointedly. “How can Draco be released now?”

“Draco won’t.” Harry smiled at Hermione's questioning look.

And for once, someone spoke for him and said it _right._

Because Harry’s voice was Draco’s own. 

Harry glanced down at Draco, his grin infectious and captivating. Draco returned it just as brightly.

“Draco wants to be with me.” 

Green eyes bore into silver ones, and there was no room for mistranslation or confusion left.

“ _So he’ll be._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please support the author by clicking on the kudos button and leaving a comment below! ♥


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